The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Volume 1 (of 3)Le Sage, Alain René
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The Adventures of Gil Blas of Santillane, Volume 1 (of 3)
Le Sage, Alain René
Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Blas, Gil (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
Among Aurora's women there was one who went by the name of Ortiz.
This was an old dowager, who had been a fixture in Don Vincent's
family for more than twenty years. She had been about his daughter
from her childhood, and still held the office of duenna; but she no
longer performed the invidious part of the duty. On the contrary,
instead of blazoning, as formerly, Aurora's little indiscretions, her
skill was now employed in throwing them into shade. One evening,
Dame Ortiz, having watched her opportunity of speaking to me without
observation, said, in a low voice, that if I was close and
trustworthy, I had only to be in the garden at midnight, when a scene
would be laid open in which I should not be sorry to be an actor. I
answered the duenna, pressing her hand significantly, that I would
not fail, and we parted in a hurry for fear of surprise. How the
hours lagged from this moment till supper time, though, we supped
very early. Then again, from supper to my master's bed time! It
should seem as if the march of the whole family was timed to a largo
movement. By way of helping forward the fidgets, when Don Vincent
withdrew to his chamber, the army was put on the war establishment,
and we were obliged to fight the campaigns in Portugal over again,
though my ears had not recovered from the din of the last cannonade.
But a favor from which I had hitherto made my escape, was reserved
for this eventful evening. He repeated the army list from beginning
to end, with copious digressions on the exploits of those officers
who had distinguished themselves in his time. O, my poor tympanum!
It was almost cracked before we got to the end. Time, however, will
wear out even an old man's story, and he went to bed. I immediately
went to my own little chamber, whence there was a way into the garden
by a private staircase. I depended on my purchase of perfumery for
overcoming the effluvia of the day's drudgery, and put on a clean
shirt highly scented. When every invention had been pressed into the
service to render my person worthy of its destiny, and cherish the
fondness of my mistress, I went to the appointment.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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