“Eh, eh, eh, what a bother about nothing!” says this amiable old fool.  “Let us pray all together to the Madonna that you be not sorry for this.  She has done nothing, padron—­nothing at all.  He alone is wicked—­by Diana the Mighty I swear it—­and it was I who put him in the cupboard, and therefore know what I am saying.  She—­a lamb of our Saviour’s flock!  Madness!  Are you jealous of a boy without a beard?  Do you conceive that your lady could listen to a voice that sang among milk-teeth?  Ah, do you listen, rather, padron, to me and the truth, for we are at one together, the truth and I.”  She stayed for breath.

“Hag,” said the doctor, “you are lying.  This fine young man has confessed to me the agreeable truth.  Madam,” he turned to Donna Aurelia, “here is a confessed lover of yours.  Pray have you anything to say?”

“He is very foolish, he is very wicked; I have often told him so, often and often,” says Aurelia, twisting her hands about.  “To-night he has said what he should not—­and I believe he knows that very well.  I had intended to tell you, if you had come sooner, as I wished—­ah, and as I asked you, Porfirio—­you would have heard it all from me.  That is all.  I was frightened—­Nonna popped him in the cupboard—­how he got out, how you found him there, I know not.  But he has done me no harm—­nor you neither, Porfirio.  That I swear before the saints in Heaven.”  The doctor glared at her—­then took her by the wrist.

“Lies, lies, woman!” he said furiously.  “He convicts you himself.  He came out of the cupboard of his own act.”

She stared in amazement, and forgot the pain he was giving her.  “He—­ came—­out?  But——­Is he mad?”

“No, madam,” said I; and, “No, by Heaven!” cried the doctor, “for I have no doubt at all but that he intended to provoke me to anger and then to run me through the body with that sword of his.”

I threw up my arms at such a monstrous suspicion.  Aurelia, who had been gazing at me as if she feared for my reason, now looked down.

“Please to let go of my wrist,” she said, “you are hurting me, Porfirio.  I know no more than you do why he came out of the cupboard; but of course you do him a wrong.  He did not mean anything of the sort—­he is of a good heart—­incapable of murder.  And now, please, Porfirio, let go of my wrist.”

But he did not; his rage, gathering in volume, bade fair to convulse him.

“I intend to have the truth from one of the three of you before I let you go,” said he.  “From you I require to know why you put him into the cupboard.”

“It was very silly,” said Aurelia, “since he had done no harm.  Nonna, why did you put him into the cupboard?”

“Diana!” cried the old woman, “where else was I to put the boy?” The doctor’s laughter was terrible to me.  I took a step forward.

“I will tell you, sir, the reason of both your puzzlements,” I said.  “I was put into the cupboard because Donna Aurelia was rightly ashamed of me, and I came out because I was honestly ashamed of myself.”