CHAPTER IV.

The don’s pulse was moderate by a late hour the next day; and having obtained the permission of the doctor, who had sedately watched all night by the bed, to go down stairs, the poor gentleman crept down as though he had never danced in all his life.

And what a sight when he reached that drawing-room of his! To the right, dresses; to the left, dresses; in front, band-boxes; behind, the same; lace, bobbins, furs, scarfs, shoes, gloves and--bills! a large number, all in a nice little heap in the centre of the table. He sat down in the middle of all this invasion, and stared about him as though he was anybody else in a strange place, rather than Don Pasquale.

He was still sitting staring about when a hairdresser passed quickly through the room. The next moment a lady’s maid appeared at the door. “Good gracious,” said she, “ain’t my lady a scolding--do be quick with the diaments!”

“Please, miss,” said a second servant to the lady’s maid, “here’s the milliner.”

“Then let the milliner come quick.”

The milliner rushed past the don, so to speak, smothered in boxes.

At the door she was met by another waiting-woman, dashing off to the carriage with a cloak, a bouquet, and a scent-bottle. All these paraphernalia were handed to a footman, and then back the woman came, and crashed up against the fourth body menial--“me lady’s fan! me lady’s gloves! me lady’s veil!”

The second footman without the door fell upon, and bore away these things.

“Me lady’s carriage!”

“Storms and----” something else said Don Pasquale, and with an effort fell upon the pile of bills. “To dressmaker, 100 dollars--oh! dear me! To coach-maker, six hundred--worse and worse. Twice as much to the jeweller. To horses--horses! I wish they’d carry all to----,” again the don used a highly improper atom of speech.

Then the don in an awful whisper said, “HERE SHE IS!”

In she came, like several ladies of state, and dressed as surely never pupil at a convent had ever been dressed before. She did not see him as she passed on, not she; but he stopped her--rather hoped he would excuse her, and faintly desired to know whither she was going.

She loudly desired to be informed what that was to him--she was going out!

Again he faintly and in a slightly sarcastical tone observed that a husband _might_ take the liberty of objecting.

“A husband _might_ take the liberty, and it certainly _was_ a liberty; and indeed, a husband _might_ even _object_, but that was no reason why the wife should _obey_. It was the duty of such a man to see, and hold his tongue; indeed, common sense would tell him to hold his tongue; for, she would ask him, was he listened to when he _did_ speak?”

“Take care, take care.”

“It were wise, don, to take care of yourself.”

“Go to your room, ma’am.”

“You were best in yours. Go to bed, and to sleep. We will talk about this to-morrow.”

“You shall not pass.”

“Ah! you fill up the door. Indeed--don.”

“Yes.”

“Pray, now move.”

“I will not.”

“Ah!”

What is it makes fire flash in the old eyes of the new husband? Was it a humiliating box on the ear--the right ear? Yes--yes.

She came out from the door-way.

Meanwhile the young Norina asked herself if she were not going too far.

“Then I may go now?”

“Yes, go where you like. Go anywhere, so that you don’t come back.”

“I shall then see you to-morrow--hem!”

“You will find my doors closed.”

“Bah! be not a tyrant, poor grandfather. Sleep well, and when the morning comes, I will call you.”

And she sailed out grandly.

“Divorce, divorce!” he shrieked out as the lady left him--“divorce! if this is wedlock--what’s that?”

_That_ was a paper which Norina had dropped on going out.

He picked it up, after some effort. “Another horrid bill, I find one in every corner--eh! what! ah!”--(here he read.) “‘Between nine and ten I shall be at that part of the garden which looks to the north; for greater precaution try to let me in through the secret door. I shall warn you by singing. Adieu.’ I shall go mad, I, Don Pasquale--I shall go mad. Malatesta, send for Malatesta. Here, some one--anyone--ALL--go fetch Doctor Malatesta. All--I say--all.” And out he tumbled from the room.

Then came the servant’s parliament. “Up and down. Up and down. Did you ever? First a bell this way--then a bell that way. Who could bear it? Did you ever, now? Horrid. Not a moment’s peace. A good house--yes, a good house. But still, why _she_ made a piece of work when her breakfast went up, and when her dinner went up, too. Then there _was_ a disturbance when she went out. _He_ flies into a passion, _she_ flies into a worse passion than ever, and then they fought! Lor! Oh yes! She hit him. You don’t say so!”

When footsteps were heard approaching, the house adjourned.

It was the doctor and Ernesto, still plotting. Ernesto was to appear at the secret door, and he was to take great care that the don should not recognize him. Here the heavy step of that luckless gentleman was heard coming towards the room, so that Ernesto fled like guilt.

The don came in paler, and colder, and more dejected than ever.

“Don Pasquale!”

“A living corpse, brother.”

“The matter--what is the matter?”

“I wish,” said the gentleman to himself, “I wish I had rather given a thousand Norinas to Ernesto.”

“A good thing to know,” thought the doctor, as the don thus spoke. Then aloud, “But pray explain yourself.”

“Half my income spent in ribbons; but that is nothing.”

“Dear me--go on.”

“To the theatre she _will_ go--but also that is nothing.”

“Dear me--proceed.”

“My ears she boxes with a will--_that_ is nothing.”

“Indeed--indeed.”

“But just look here. I think that’s something, surely.”

Here he handed the horrid letter to the doctor, whose horror was unapproachable when he had read it minutely.

“Stone, don, I’m stone.”

“So am I. Revenge! revenge!”

“Surely don. Revenge! revenge!”

“And I have the means. Sit down.”

“The means.”

“To the garden on tip toe--you and I--we softly go--on and on behind each tree--fearing one of them should see--then upon them straight we fall--and loudly for assistance call. Then to prison off they go--and thus am I avenged you know. And now doctor if you can--please devise a better plan.”

“Very good; but,” said the doctor, “he had a better plan, which he would divulge only on one condition, namely, that the don should agree to all he should propose.”

The don was too fallen to oppose, so, with this arrangement, away they trundled towards the garden.