"That is indeed a marvellous decision!" cried Zambullo, laughing: "the lovers of our vulgar tongue have henceforth nought to fear." "Excuse me," replied the Devil; "but your writers who endanger that noble chastity of style which forms the delight of all discerning readers, are not confined to the Toledan academy."
Don Cleophas was now curious to learn who was the cavalier in silver-grey habiliments, whom he beheld conversing with the hardy moralist. "He," said the Cripple, "is a Catalonian, an officer of the Spanish guard, and of course a younger son; but he is a youth whose tongue is pointed as the sword he wears. To give you an example of his wit, I will tell you of a repartee that he made yesterday to a lady whom he met in high society. But to enable you to enjoy its pungency, I must inform you that he has a brother, Don Andrea de Prada, who was some years since, an officer, like himself, in the same corps.
"It happened one day that a farmer of the king's revenues came to this Don Andrea, and said to him: 'Signor de Prada, I bear the same name as you, but our families are different. I am aware that you belong to one of the noblest houses in Catalonia, but at the same time that you are not rich. Now, I am of a poor family, and have lots of wealth. Can we not find a means, therefore, to communicate to each other that which we mutually want? Have you your titles of nobility?' 'Certainly!' replied Don Andrea. 'That being the case,' continued the other, 'if you will confide the documents to my hands, I will place them in those of an ingenious genealogist, who will set to work upon them, and will make us relations in spite of our ancestors. On my part, as in duty bound, I will make my kinsman a present of thirty thousand pistoles: is it a bargain?' Don Andrea, dazzled by the proposition, accepted it at once, gave the parchments to the farmer, and with the money he received purchased an estate in his native province, where he now resides at his ease.
"His younger brother, who gained nothing by the transaction, was dining yesterday at a house where the conversation turned by chance on the Signor de Prada, farmer of the king's revenues. On this, the lady of whom I spoke, turning to the young officer, asked if the wealthy signor were not related to him. 'No,' replied he, 'I have not that honour; but I believe he is a relation of my brother's.'"