Night came upon him, and he welcomed with delight the soft shadows
that hid the daring act and protected his love. He examined her
injured body carefully, and concluded that the wounds were not
serious, although one might have seen her brain, had she had one,
through the opening in her skull, and the sawdust of her heart poured
out in copious streams through the rents in her breast. Her gown
was in shreds, and part of her hair had been dropped in the hasty
flight. His soul overflowed with sorrow when he realized that he had
not the money with which to meet the situation. As he had given up
his business, naturally his pockets were empty, and a loved woman,
particularly if she is in poor health, is a source of unlimited
expense. Migajas laid his hand sadly upon that part of his rags
wherein he had habitually kept his coin, but nothing was there.
"At this critical moment," thought he, "when I need a house, a bed,
a world of doctors and surgeons, an abundance of food, a bright fire
and a dressmaker, I have nothing--nothing!"
But as he was very tired, he laid his head upon his idol's body and
fell asleep like an angel.
Then a great miracle took place. The lady began to revive, and
finally rising to her feet, showed Pacorrito a smiling countenance.
The wound had disappeared from her noble brow; her lithe form was
without a rent, her gown neat and whole. On her curled and perfumed
locks she wore a coquettish hat trimmed with minute flowers,--in a
word, she stood before him in all her beauty just as he had known her
in the show-window.
Migajas was dazzled, stupefied, dumb. He fell on his knees and
worshipped her as people do a divinity. Then she took the ragamuffin
by the hand, and in a voice clear, pure, and sweeter than the song of
the nightingale, she said to him,--
"Pacorrito, follow me! I want to show you my gratitude, and tell you
of the sublime love with which you have inspired me. You have been
loyal, constant, generous, heroic; you have rescued me from the power
of those Vandals that tortured me. You deserve my heart and my hand.
Come, follow me! Do not be foolish; do not think you are inferior to
me because you are in rags."
Migajas gazed at the lady's elegant, luxurious attire and said sadly,
"My lady, where can I go in this dress?"
The lady did not answer; she merely led Pacorrito by the hand into a
mysterious region of shadows.
The ragamuffin soon found himself in a grand parlor brilliantly
illumined and filled with beautiful objects. The first moment of
bewilderment passed, he distinguished a thousand different figures
and statuettes, like those that peopled the shop in which he had
seen his beloved for the first time. What greatly surprised him was
to see all the fine ladies who in shimmering gowns had occupied
the show-window with his friend come forth to meet them. His lady
accepted their homage with grave and ceremonious courtesy. She seemed
to belong to a higher caste than they. Her queenly manner, her proud
though not haughty bearing, suggested dominion. She immediately
presented Pacorrito. For his part he was much confused and grew
redder than a poppy when the princess, taking his hand, said,--
"Allow me to present to you the Señor Don Pacorrito de las Migajas,
who will honor us with his presence to-night."
The wings of his heart drooped, as they say, when he compared the
luxury that surrounded him with his own poverty, his rags, his
bare feet, his torn trousers upheld by a single suspender, and his
coat-sleeves cut off at the elbow.
"I can divine your thoughts," said the princess, aside. "Your dress
is not the most appropriate for a celebration like this. As a matter
of fact, you are not presentable."
"Señora, that deuced tailor of mine," stammered Migajas, "has been
false to his word, and--"
"Never mind; we will dress you here," said the noble lady.
The valets in this strange mansion were tiny and very comical
monkeys. Wee parrots of the kind known as perricos acted as pages,
to say nothing of a great number of paper birds. They immediately
set to work to repair, as far as it was possible, Pacorrito's
unfortunate appearance. They slipped his feet into a pair of tiny
gilded match-boxes that made the most stylish boots; they cut a
neck-cloth for him out of half a little red paper lantern and turned
an osier flower-pot into a sort of pastoral hat which they trimmed
elaborately with flowers. As Pacorrito had never been decorated,
they took a metal plate from an elegant Kepi and hung it around
his neck, by way of a decoration, and also a match-box, which was
round and looked like a watch, and the cut-glass stopper of a small
bottle of perfumery. The paper birds conceived the happy thought of
putting an ivory paper-cutter in his belt, to figure as a sword or
dagger. Thanks to these and numerous other inventions for concealing
his tatters, our friend looked so handsome that no one would have
recognized him. As he caught sight of himself in the mirror-top of a
work-box, he swelled with pride. He was radiant.