She was still silent. I concluded, cheerfully: 'When all's said and done, I think you ought to make light of this incident. It wasn't so much lack of respect as a kind of homage — a bit coarse and countrified, I agree, but — well, fashions vary, you know.'
Carried away by the usual bold gaiety that came over me after my work, I was becoming, as can be seen, deplorably facetious. I realized this just in time and, forcing myself to be serious again, I added hastily: 'Forgive me, I know I'm being vulgar — but to tell you the truth I cannot manage to take this whole business seriously… all the more so because I'm sure Antonio is innocent.'
She spoke at last. 'None of this interests me,' she said; 'what I want to know is whether you're prepared to send him away — that's all.'
I have already observed that happiness makes us selfish. At that moment, probably, my selfishness reached its highest point. For I knew that there was no other barber in the village. I knew, besides, that it would be impossible to find one in the town who would be ready to travel several miles every day in order to come and shave me. It would mean giving up the idea of a barber altogether and shaving myself. But, since I don't really know how to shave myself, it would have led to skin inflammations, scratches, cuts and, in fact, all sorts of unpleasantnesses. Instead of that, I wanted everything to go on undisturbed and unchanged as long as I was working. I wanted nothing to come and upset the state of profound quietness which, rightly or wrongly, I considered to be absolutely indispensable if my work were to go well. I forced myself, all at once, to be very serious and said: 'But, my dear, you haven't succeeded in convincing me that Antonio was really lacking in respect towards you — I mean intentionally. . Why should I sack him? For what reason? What excuse could I make?'
'Any excuse. . Tell him we're leaving.'
'It isn't true. . and he would find out at once.'
'What does that matter to me? — provided I don't see him again.'
'But it's not possible. . '
'You won't even do this to oblige me,' she cried, exasperated.
'But, my dear, think for a moment. . Why should I give gratuitous offence to a poor man who. .?'