'In truth, good Woman,' replied He, 'It will be difficult for me
to relieve you without knowing what is the matter with you. You
have forgotten to tell me what has happened, and what it is you
want.'
'Let me die' cried Jacintha, 'but your Sanctity is in the right!
This then is the fact stated briefly. A lodger of mine is lately
dead, a very good sort of Woman that I must needs say for her as
far as my knowledge of her went, though that was not a great way:
She kept me too much at a distance; for indeed She was given to
be upon the high ropes, and whenever I ventured to speak to her,
She had a look with her which always made me feel a little
queerish, God forgive me for saying so. However, though She was
more stately than needful, and affected to look down upon me
(Though if I am well informed, I come of as good Parents as She
could do for her ears, for her Father was a Shoe-maker at
Cordova, and Mine was an Hatter at Madrid, aye, and a very
creditable Hatter too, let me tell you,) Yet for all her pride,
She was a quiet well-behaved Body, and I never wish to have a
better Lodger. This makes me wonder the more at her not sleeping
quietly in her Grave: But there is no trusting to people in this
world! For my part, I never saw her do amiss, except on the
Friday before her death. To be sure, I was then much scandalized
by seeing her eat the wing of a Chicken! ''How, Madona Flora!''
quoth I; (Flora, may it please your Reverence, is the name of the
waiting Maid)--''How, Madona Flora!'' quoth I; ''Does your
Mistress eat flesh upon Fridays? Well! Well! See the event,
and then remember that Dame Jacintha warned you of it!'' These
were my very words, but Alas! I might as well have held my
tongue! Nobody minded me; and Flora, who is somewhat pert and
snappish, (More is the pity, say I) told me that there was no
more harm in eating a Chicken than the egg from which it came.
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