“Three! _Three_ beggarly servants. Three. As for you, steward. Bow lower, sir, bow lower” (stamp of the foot); “listen to these my orders. Turn those cubs away at once. Get new servants, good looking young men that will do us credit; two dozen will do.” “Oh, heaven!” exclaimed Don Pasquale. “Steward,” (another stamp of the foot) “how dare you turn away. Let there be two new carriages this very evening in MY stables; as for MY new horses, I leave the choice to you. And as for these apartments, they are frightful, they shall be rebuilt. And as for this horrid furniture, it shall be burnt.” “Oh, heaven! have you done ma’m?” “No, man. Steward (greater stamp of the foot than ever,) how dare you not keep your eyes on me? Let everything, everywhere, always be in the first style, so that people may respect us. Begone, fool!” “And pray now ma’m,” suggested the don, “who pays?” “And pray now sir, who should know better than you?” “Oh, heaven! Pray am I master, or am I not?” “You are not--master, where I am! Zounds!” She flings over a chair. “Sister, sister,” said the doctor, but the sister did not even look at him. She flew at the don as well as she could, seeing she was a wingless angel; and arrived within a quarter of an inch of his head, bade him, in the most impassioned language, depart. “Tell me, some one, _have_ I married her?” “Ah, you poor man you,” said the new wife; with a sneer. Here the don went off into a roaring, yelping, yelling rage, tearing his own clothes, dilapidating his own walls with his own head, and damaging his personal appearance with nobody’s hands but his own. “Oh, brother, brother,” shrieked the doctor, dashing after the don, who was taking a tour of destruction all round the drawing-room to the north, while his lady was doing precisely the same thing to the south. “Oh, will anybody tell me,” asked the don--“am I mad?” Well, Norina in her rage worked round to where Ernesto was standing--and then she was wearing her own natural bright face, and reaching that youth she uttered this little speech. “Ah! well--Ernesto”--To which the youth answered--“Ah! dear Norina.” So it may be supposed that both were gratified. The next moment she had recommenced her sail round the room: but by this time the doctor had run up to the don and deftly turned him away from this affectionate little duet of soft words. “My goodness, don, what a pulse--eighty, ninety, one hundred and twenty, twenty-five--Don Pasquale you must straightway go to BED!” 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.