“Ah!” said the doctor, “I can deny naught to a friend.” Again the don embraced the doctor. This second embrace was not so long as the first. The don ejected his friend from his arms, and said rapidly, “Go, go, go.” Left to himself, it may be remarked the old don danced with glee. If you have not seen a gingerly old gentleman in such a situation, you have lost a sight. He was in the midst of this practice, when his nephew, Ernesto came running into the room. “Good morning, nephew! You may sit down.” “Surely, surely, uncle!” “Don’t be afraid.” “Surely, surely, uncle!” “I am not going to scold you. Tell me, did I not, precisely two months ago, offer you the hand of a lady, as rich as beautiful, and as noble as both?” “Surely, surely, uncle!” “And did I not promise to give you all I had?” “At your death--surely, surely.” “And did I not say if you refused, I would marry her myself?” “That is, marry somebody else--surely, surely.” “Well, you did refuse; now, I offer you this young lady again--will you marry her?” “Surely, surely--NO.” “No!” “No.” “You homeless fellow, you!” “You turn me out, uncle?” “Yes, I do, to make room for your aunt.” “You marry?” “Surely, surely, nephew; I myself, the Don Pasquale, in very flesh and bone.” “You take my breath away!” “Yes, I myself, the Don Pasquale, sane and sound, I marry.” “‘Tis a comedy!” “Is it? Till to-morrow; wait till to-morrow.” “Sir, I will.” “Yes, but not here, in Don Pasquale’s house.” The youth here grew very disconsolate, for indeed he was thinking if his uncle cut him off with that proverbial shilling, he would have to resign the promised hand of somebody whom he had no objection to marry whatever. Meanwhile the don was watching him attentively, and half hoping that the youth would consent. Said Ernesto, after the dismal pause, “Uncle, just two words.” “Three--young man.” “Don’t be rash--consult Doctor Malatesta.” “Sir--I have consulted him.” “And what is his advice?” “He is as _willing for the match as I_. Oh, you may look astonished--as willing for the match as I. In fact, nephew--between ourselves--SHE IS HIS SISTER!” “The doctor’s?” “Well, he _said_ so.” Poor Ernesto. The doctor had always been his best friend, and when the crashing announcement came, he thought Doctor Malatesta would be his man-at-arms, and now it seemed he had gone over to the enemy. And he looked even more dismal than before, for now, not only had his old love drifted away from him, but his old friend too. The don saw these dismal marks of misery with dolorous satisfaction--the satisfaction arose out of his pride--and the dolor was buried in his heart. But for all that he showed his nephew to the door, though it should be said to his honor, that he did not dance when he was alone again. CHAPTER II.