Gil Blas by Alain-René Lesage (best romance books of all time TXT) 📕

much assurance, that probably the whole party with the exception of his secretary, was taken in by the device. Among the company, before whom this trick was impudently played off, there was one person, by name Don Lope de Velasco. This person, a very grave don, instead of making himself merry, like the rest, with the fictitious triumphs of the reader, asked him coolly if the conquest of Doña Clara had been achieved with any great difficulty?

“Less than the least,” answered Don Matthias; “the advances were all on her side. She saw me in public, and took a fancy to my person. A scout was commissioned to follow me, and thus she got at my name and condition. She wrote to me, and gave me an appointment, at an hour of the night, when the house was sure to be quiet. I was true as the needle to the pole; her bedchamber was the place.⁠ ⁠… But prudence and delicacy forbid my describing what passed there.”

At this instance of tender regard for the lady’s character, Señor de Velasco betrayed some very passionate workings, in his countenance. It was easy to see the interest he took in the subject. “All these letters,” said he to my master, looking at him with an eye of indignation and contempt, “are infamous forgeries; and, above all, that which you boast of having received from Doña Clara de Mendoza. There is not, in all Spain, a more modest young creature than herself. For these two years, a gentleman, at least your equal in birth and personal merit, has been trying every method of insinuating himself into her heart. Scarcely have his assiduities extorted the slightest encouragement; but yet he may flatter himself that, if anything beyond common civility had been granted at all, it would have been to him only.”

“Well, who says to the contrary?” interrupted Don Matthias, in a bantering way. “I agree with you, that the lady is a very pretty-behaved young lady. On my part, I am a very pretty-behaved young gentleman. Ergo, you may rest assured that nothing took place between us but what was pretty and well-behaved.”

“Indeed! This is too much,” interrupted Don Lope, in his turn; “let us lay aside this unseasonable jesting. You are an impostor. Doña Clara never gave you an appointment by night. Her reputation shall not be blackened by your ribaldry. But prudence and delicacy forbid my describing what must pass between you and me.”

With this retort on his lips, he looked contemptuously round, and withdrew with a menacing aspect, which anticipated serious consequences, to my judgment. My master, whose courage was better than his cause, held the threats of Don Lope in derision. “A blockhead!” exclaimed he, bursting into a loud fit of laughter. “Our knights-errant used to tilt for the beauty of their mistresses; this fellow would engage in the lists, for the forlorn hope of virtue in his; he is more ridiculous than his prototypes.”

Velasco’s retiring, in vain opposed by Moncade, occasioned no interruption to the merriment. The party, without thinking further about it, kept the ball up briskly, and did not part till they had made free with the next day. We went to bed, that is, my master and myself, about five o’clock in the morning. Sleep sat heavy on my eyelids, and, as I thought, was taking permanent possession thereof; but I reckoned without my host, or rather without our porter, who came and waked me in an hour, to say that there was a lad inquiring for me at the door. “O, thou infernal porter!” muttered I, indistinctly, through the interstices of a long yawn; “do you consider that I have but now got to bed? Tell the little rascal that I am just asleep; he must come again, by-and-by.”

“He insists,” replied Cerberus, “on speaking with you instantly; his business cannot wait.” As that was the case, I got up, put on nothing but my breeches and doublet, and went downstairs, swearing and gaping. “My friend,” said I, “be so good as to let me know what urgent affair procures me the honor of seeing you so early?”

“I have a letter,” answered he, “to deliver personally into the hands of Señor Don Matthias, to be read by him without loss of time; it is of the last consequence to him; pray, show me into his room.”

As I thought the matter looked serious, I took the liberty of disturbing my master. “Excuse me,” said I, “for waking you, but the pressing nature.⁠ ⁠…”

“What do you want?” interrupted he, just in my style, with the porter.

“Sir,” said the lad, who was at my elbow, “here is a letter from Don Lope de Velasco.”

Don Matthias looked at the cover, broke it, and, after reading the contents, said to the messenger of Don Lope, “My good fellow, I never get up before noon, let the party be ever so agreeable; judge whether I can be expected to be stirring by six in the morning for a small-sword recreation. You may tell your master, that, if he chooses to kick his heels at the spot till half past twelve, we will come and see how he looks there; carry him that answer.” With this flippant speech, he plunged down snugly under the bedclothes, and fell fast asleep again, as if nothing had happened.

Between eleven and twelve, he got up and dressed himself, with the utmost composure, and went out, telling me that there was no occasion for my attendance; but I was too much on the tenterhooks about the result to mind his orders. I sneaked after him, to Saint Jerome’s meadow, where I saw Don Lope de Velasco waiting for him. I took my station to watch them; and was an eyewitness to all the circumstances of their rencounter. They saluted, and began their fierce debate without delay. The engagement lasted long. They exchanged thrusts alternately, with equal skill and mettle. The victory, however, was on the side of Don Lope; he ran my