Now he had a nephew, whose name was Ernesto. This youth had been continually either falling from the heights of his uncle’s approbation, or to the depths of his displeasure, only to be raised again the next day. But at last Ernesto forfeited the don’s approbation altogether, for he fell in love with Norina, of whom the don had no good opinion, though, in truth, he had never seen her. In the first place, according to the don, she was flighty; in the second place, she was impatient; in the third place, she was fiery; and the old bachelor had a horror of fiery women. So when his nephew showed a disposition to speak in praise of his lady love, the don grew so obstinate and ill-tempered, that his friend, Doctor Malatesta, no longer recognized him as the old bachelor companion: Doctor Malatesta had known the bachelor don for more years than he would like to name, and known the nephew as long as the don himself, so he was like one of the family. It may also be stated that the doctor was a practical joker. There is but a fourth party to this little tale--though she cannot be called one of the family--we mean Norina, a young widow, a delightful widow, perhaps impatient, as the don had declared, nay, perhaps even fiery, but for all that she was affectionate and sincere, and amazingly fond of Ernesto. Well, it may be said at once, that the nephew persisted in adoring Norina; the old don then marked out a line of conduct, the effect of which was, that he sat in his breakfast parlor one fine morning, impatiently waiting for his friend Malatesta, and snappishly looking at the clock. Being old and a leetle deaf, he took the first sound he heard to be the doctor’s step--’twas only the wind; then he thought of the “pill” he had prepared for his obstinate nephew, moreover his insulting nephew, for that relation had gone so far as to indecently call him a donkey--call _him_, Don Pasquale--a donkey. In the midst of his silent anger, the doctor arrived, a pleasant middle-aged gentleman, with a jolly, pleasant face. “Well, well,” said the don. “Well, indeed,” said the doctor. “What, you have found--” “Yes, indeed.” The don embraced his friend in the Italian manner, and thereupon did not see the laugh that spread over the doctor’s merry countenance. “Now for her portrait,” said the don; “I am all attention.” “She is as beautiful as an angel who has missed her way, and wandered to earth; she is as fresh as a newly-blown lily, and her eyes are like darts that pierce the very heart--and whether you shall most admire the blackness of her hair, or the beauty of her smile, who shall say?” “Blessed is the man who is blessed with such a wife.” “And her modesty, and her grace, and her charity!” “Yes, yes, doctor; and her family!” “Such a family!” “And her name--” “Her name is Malatesta.” “What! is she related to you?” “A little; she’s my sister.” “Oh, dear brother! when shall I see her?” “To-morrow.” “‘Tis an age! this very instant!”