While eating his breakfast he inquired cunningly concerning this wise
teacher of the gospels of love and hate, but Xantippe for a time did not
answer.
"Is he a Greek?"
"No."
"A Frenchman?"
"No."
"A German?"
"No."
Suddenly Gregorio felt a kind of cramp at his heart, and he had to
pause before he put the next question. He could scarcely explain why
he hesitated, but he called to mind the Paradise cafe and the red-faced
Englishman. He was ready enough to sacrifice his wife if by so doing
money might be gained, but he felt somehow hurt in his vanity at the
idea of this ugly, slow-witted Northerner usurping his place. With an
effort, however, he put the question:
"Is he an Englishman?"
"Yes."
He was seized with a tumult of anger. He spoke volubly, talking of the
ignorance of the English, their brutality, their dull brains, their
stupid pride. Xantippe waited till he had finished speaking and then
replied quietly:
"It cannot matter to you. It is my concern. You have lost all rights to
be angry with me or those connected with me."
Gregorio refused to hear reason, and explained how he begrudged them
their wealth and fame.
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