"No! I cannot believe that you would jest on matters so ... so...."
"So sacred, you mean?"
"That is it--so sacred."
"However, you will confess that you haven't the papers with you."
"Certainly not; you are a talented man ... and a perfect gentleman
besides...."
"Come now; don't flatter me; there is no need of it."
They went to the door, talking as they went. Eguiburu felt an anxiety
that he tried in vain to hide; he gave his hand three or four times to
Rivera; his face and attitude changed more than a score of times, and
when Miguel told him to put on his hat, he placed it, all twisted and
rumpled, on the back of his head. He tried to change the conversation to
prove that he was perfectly convinced of the good word of his surety. He
asked him with much interest about his wife and the baby, taking great
pains to inquire about the details of the occurrence. Nevertheless, when
he was already on the stairway, and Miguel was just about to close the
door, he asked in an indifferent and jovial tone, and yet betraying keen
anxiety:--
"Then that was merely a joke, was it, Rivera?"
"Have no anxiety about it, man!" replied Miguel, laughing.
But as soon as he was left alone, the laugh died on his lips; he stood
for a moment with his fingers on the latch; then he went with slow step
back to his study, sat down at the table, and leaned his head on his
hand, with his eyes covered. Thus he sat a long time in thought. When he
got up, they were swollen and red as though he had slept too long. He
went to his wife's room; as he passed through the corridor he felt a
little chill.
She was still awake. Beside the bed a cot had been placed for Placida.
"Who was your visitor?" she asked.
"It was no consequence; a man came to speak with me about the paper."
There must have been something peculiar in Miguel's voice in making this
simple reply, for his wife looked at him anxiously for some time. To
free himself from this scrutiny, he went on to say:--
"How rested I am; I had a nap."
He kissed her forehead, then lifted the spread, contemplated for a
moment his sleeping son, and touched his lips to the little head; then
he kissed his wife again, and left the room. When he went to bed he
shivered, and nevertheless felt that his cheeks were on fire.
For a long time he lay in bed, with his eyes wide open and the lamp
lighted. A throng of melancholy thoughts passed through his mind; a
thousand forebodings and fears attacked him. Like all men of keen
imagination, he leaped to the worst conclusions; he saw himself ruined,
obliged with his wife to leave the social circles in which they had been
accustomed to move: he also remembered his son.
"My poor boy!" he exclaimed.
And he was on the point of sobbing; but he made a manly effort to
control himself, saying:--
"No! weep for lost money? Such things are done only by fools and misers.
A man who has a wife like mine, and a son such as she has just given me,
has no right to ask anything more of God. I am young; I have good
health; if worse comes to worst, I can work for them."
As he murmured these words, he gave a violent puff to the light, and had
sufficient self-control to calm himself, and was soon asleep.