“What, sire? But there—one is ashamed to say it.”
“Go on, man; out with it, and don't be bashful. To the man that saved my life I'd give anything, even the crown I wear.”
“Well, then, sire! She wants to be a marchioness.”
“A marchioness! Is that all? Then from this instant she is the Marchioness of Marville.”
“Thank you, sire.”
“Keep the thanks for your wife; and look into the dining-room to see if there is anything to lay hands on. And when you go back you will find your wife already installed in the palace belonging to her title, for the Azure Palace is not good enough for marquises.”
Juan passed into the dining-room, and, after running the danger of bursting, he made his way for the palace of Marville. The palace of Marville was not such a very great wonder as its name might lead one to believe; but, for all that, one might very well pass his life in it!
A crowd of footmen and porters received Juan at the gates of the palace, addressing him as my lord marquis; and Juan, for all his modesty, could not but feel a little inflated with such a reception and such a title.
But there was nothing to hold the pride of his wife (though one might be as big as the bell of Toledo, under which one day there sat down seven tailors and a shoemaker) at hearing herself called by her maids lady marchioness here, and lady marchioness there.
“Well, so you are at last content, wife?” said Juan to her.