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Te, dulcis conjux, te solo in litore secum

te veniente die, te decedente canebat.

“Are you fond of the country, Don Sergio? You really should be, with all the gifts you possess.”

Don Sergio’s anger, which had been rising together with Peñalar’s incoherent verbosity, exploded into one curt sentence:

“I abominate the country.”

Peñalar stopped short with mouth agape.

“Sir, my dear sir,” added the merchant, raising his furious voice, “if you have plenty of time to waste, I haven’t.”

“I haven’t yet told you the reason for my visit,” said Peñalar, removing his glasses and preparing to wipe them with his handkerchief.

“No, and it isn’t necessary. I can imagine it very well. I give no charity.”

“My worthy Señor Don Sergio,” and Peñalar arose, spectacles in hand, turning his short-sighted glances about the room, “you have made a grievous mistake. I have not come to ask alms nor is that a habit of mine. No one may contradict that statement. I have come,” and he placed his glasses resolutely in their position, “to fulfil a sacred duty.”