The Poor Plutocrats | Page 2

yawned so loudly behind my back
just now?" he asked again, with an angry snort. "Will nobody answer?"
Nobody answered, and yet there was a sufficient number of people in
the room to have found an answer between them. In front of the hearth
was sitting a young woman about thirty or thirty-five, with just such a
strongly-pronounced pointed nose, with just such high raised eyebrows
as the old gentleman's, only her face was still red (though the favour of
Nature had not much to do with that perhaps) and her eyebrows were
still black; but her thin lips were just as hermetically sealed as the old
man's, when she was not speaking. This young woman was playing at
Patience.

In one of the windows sat a young girl of sixteen, a delicate creature of
rapid growth, whose every limb and feature seemed preternaturally thin
and fragile. She was occupied with some sort of sewing. At another
little sewing-table, immediately opposite to her, was a red-cheeked
damsel with a frightful mop of light hair and a figure which had all the
possibilities of stoutness before it. She was a sort of governess, and was
supposed to be English, though they had only her word for it. She was
reading a book.
On the silk ottoman behind lay the already-mentioned Clementina, who
ought to have confessed to the sin of yawning. She was a spinster
already far advanced in the afternoon of life, and had cinder-coloured
ringlets around her temples and a little bit of beard on her chin. She
was no blood relation of the family but, as an ancient companion to a
former mistress of the house, had long eaten the bread of charity under
that roof. She was now engaged upon some eye-tormenting, fine fancy
work which could not have afforded the poor creature very much
amusement.
The old gentleman on the sofa used to divert himself the whole day by
assembling as many human beings around him as possible and driving
them to desperation by his unendurable nagging and chiding; they, on
the other hand, had by this time discovered that the best defence against
this domestic visitation was never to answer so much as a word.
"Of course! Of course!" continued the old gentleman with stinging
sarcasm. "I know what a bore it is to be near me and about me. I see
through it all. Yes, I know that I am an unendurable old fellow on
whom not a single word should be wasted. I know well enough that you
are not sitting here beside me because you like to be here. Who
compels you to? I certainly shall not prevent anybody's petticoat from
going away by laying hold of it. The gate is not closed. Nothing easier
than to be off. Yet nobody likes the idea, eh? Ah-ha! It is possible that
when the eye of old Lapussa no longer sees, the heart of old Lapussa
may no longer remember. Besides, nobody can tell exactly when the
old man may die. Indeed they are waiting for his death every hour--he
is beyond eighty already. A most awful bore certainly. Ah ha! The old

fool is unable to get up any more, he is not even able to strike anybody.
If he cries out, nobody is afraid of him; but, at any rate, he has strength
enough to pull the bell-rope, send for his steward, tell him to go to the
office of the alispán[1] there ferret out and bring back his last will and
testament--and then he can dictate another will to his lawyer quite
cosily at his ease."
[Footnote 1: Vice-lieutenant of the county.]
And in order to emphasize his words more terribly, he there and then
gave a tug at the bell-rope.
Yet for all that nobody turned towards him; the lady kept dealing out
the cards, the young girl continued working beads into her sampler, the
governess went on reading, and the old spinster was still intent upon
some delicate operation with her needle--just as if nobody had spoken a
word.
In answer to the bell an ancient serving-man appeared in the doorway,
and the old gentleman, after waiting a little to see from the
countenances of those present (he could observe them in the mirror
opposite) whether his allusion to his will had produced any effect, and
finding no notice taken of it whatever, said in a sharp, petulant voice:
"Louis!"
The servant approached the sofa and then stood still again.
"My dinner!"
This was the end of the awe-inspiring threat.
The old gentleman observed, or rather, suspected, some slight
amusement in the company present.
"Miss Kleary!" he observed irritably, "don't you observe that Henrietta
is looking out of the window again? I am bound, Miss, to direct your
attention to the