“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.”