“Ha!” said he, “so now we have it.”

“You shall have it now,” I replied.  “I was honestly ashamed of myself, and honestly glorious that I had been rebuked by so noble a lady.  Sir, it is true that I love this lady.”  Aurelia gave a shocked little cry, but I went on.  “It is true that I kiss her feet.  Sir, I worship the ground she presses with them—­it is holy ground.”

He scoffed at me.  I said, “My feelings overcame me—­I sinned—­I am utterly unworthy.  Punish me for my sin as you will, I shall not defend myself.  But do not, and do not you, madam, I entreat, punish me for the one thing I have done this night of which I may be rightly proud.”

“Bah,” said he, “you are a fool, I see.  And now, madam—–­”

“Yes, Porfirio,” said she, poor soul.

“You, and that she-wolf over there—­what have you to say?”

“I say,” said Nonna, “that the young gentleman is out of his wits.”

Aurelia said, “I am wretched.  He was very foolish.”

“You have deceived me,” he thundered at her, “made a fool of me at your ease.  You spoke your wheedling words, and he was in there to listen, and to laugh, by my soul!  You coaxed, you stroked, you sidled, you whispered, and he was in there laughing, laughing, laughing!  Oh, madam, you talk of his young foolishness, but you make your profit of my old foolishness.”

“It is false,” said Aurelia.  “I never did it.”

“By my soul,” says he, “I’ll not be contradicted.  I say that you do.  O Heaven, is this your duty, your gratitude, your thanks due to me?  Why—­ why—­why—­what did I take you from?  What did I make of you?  Your wretched mother—–­”

She looked up with flashing eyes.  There was danger to be seen on its way.  “She is not wretched.”

“Then she should be, madam,” he said.  “She is parent of a wicked, false—­”

Aurelia, crying, shook to get free.  “No, no!  Be silent.  You shall not say such things.”  She stamped her foot.  “It is absurd, I won’t have it,” she said.  He gave a strangling cry of rage and despair, released her and rushed towards the cupboard.  Dramatically, he flung his arms towards it as if he would shake off his two hands and leave them there.  “Explain that, woman,” he screamed.  “Explain it if you dare—–­”

She was now equally angry, with patches of fire in her cheeks.  “I shall explain nothing more.  You will not believe me when I do.  My mother will understand me.”

“Then she shall—­if she can,” says the doctor, “and as soon as you please.”  Aurelia peered at him.  “What do you mean, sir?”

“Why, madam, that you shall go where you are best understood.”

“What!” she cried, “you mean—?  You cannot mean—­Oh, preposterous!”

The doctor was looking at the cupboard.  “Ay, and it is preposterous, and I do mean it.”