In the morning Maximina, after taking chocolate, felt a trifle
indisposed. They attributed it to a little indigestion, and took no
account of it. All that day she dragged about, feeling wretchedly, but
still keeping up. When Miguel came from his office, she had thrown
herself on the bed; on hearing the bell she quickly got up, and came out
as usual to receive him. Nevertheless, she soon felt obliged to lie down
again; she kept getting up to attend to this thing and that, but
returned to a lying posture again, now on Miguel's bed, now on her own.
"I am going to call a doctor," said he. Maximina was strongly opposed.
The only compromise that he could make was that she would allow him to
call one on the next day if she were not better. She absolutely expected
to wake up the next day sound and well.
But it was not so.
She awoke with a quick pulse, and Miguel would not hear to her sitting
up. He called in an old and experienced doctor that there was in the
ward, and he, after taking her pulse and looking at her tongue, declared
that she had some fever, but that apparently there was no disorder of
the stomach. Miguel, on hearing this, wished to stay away from the
office, but his wife was so opposed to it that finally he gave in to
her, promising to come home early.
In the afternoon her temperature had risen slightly; still she was calm:
only from time to time, as though she felt some oppression, she would
draw long, deep sighs.
The next morning the doctor found her decidedly feverish, but he could
not as yet decide what was the cause, for the frequent and deep
inspirations which he obliged her to take were perfect, and there seemed
to be no lung difficulty, and the stomach also was in sound condition.
He inclined to think that it was rheumatic fever, for, a few days
before, she remembered that she had complained of pains in her shoulder;
more than that he could not assure them.
Miguel went to his office, but he returned at two o'clock; the doctor
left his clinical thermometer, so that her temperature might be taken
from time to time and recorded on a piece of paper.
On the next day the temperature was still higher. The doctor now
inclined to the opinion that the fever was nervous, because rheumatic
symptoms were not well defined. He prescribed the valerianate of quinine
and a potion. Miguel went to the office to report to his chief--nothing
more. He stopped, however, to speak with his comrades; among them was
one who had studied medicine, although without great success.
"What is the matter with your senora?" they asked him.
"I do not know. The doctor is doubtful whether it is a rheumatic or a
nervous fever."
"Man alive! I don't see what one fever has to do with the other," said
the medical employe, with self-sufficiency. "At all events pray God,
Rivera, that it may not be nervous fever."
Miguel, on hearing these words, felt chilled through. A strange
trembling passed over his frame. He made an effort to control himself,
and said in a voice that was already changed:--
"The doctor told me to take her temperature often."
"And how does her temperature stand?"
Although he did not know what exact connection the degrees had with the
fever, yet, terrified by the words that had passed, he did not dare to
say that she had forty-one and a few decimals, and replied:--
"Forty centigrade."
"That cannot be; that would be a very high fever.... Come, friend
Rivera, it must be confessed that you know more about philosophy than
about taking temperatures."
"Yes, Rivera; you must be mistaken," said another.
He stood rooted to the floor; he grew terribly pale, and was on the
point of fainting away.
His companions, noticing his pallor, began to encourage him.
"Man! don't be frightened.... You must have made some mistake. Besides,
even if you hadn't, it would not be necessarily fatal."
A companion, to give him still more encouragement, whispered: "Don't
mind that pestilent fellow! What does he know about fevers? He never in
his life opened a book!"
Nevertheless, he felt a stab in his very heart. He left the Consejos
with his face changed, and took a carriage, for he feared that he might
faint. He rushed into his wife's room.
"How do you feel?"
"Well," she replied, with a sweet smile.
"Let me take your temperature," said he, hastening to put the
thermometer under her arm. His heart beat furiously. Not being able to
stay still while the thermometer remained there, he began to walk up and
down through the room. At last with trembling hand he took it out, and
ran to the shutter, which was closed; he opened it a little way and
looked. The temperature had risen a few decimals: it was almost
forty-two degrees.
He could not speak a word.
"What makes you so excited about that blessed little tube?" said
Maximina. "What is the good of it?"
"I don't know; the doctor sent it to me.... I am going to set down the
temperature."
Instead of going to his study, however, he went to his chamber, threw
himself face down upon his bed, sobbing.
"They have killed me! They have killed me!" he murmured, while his tears
bathed the pillows.
For nearly half an hour he thus lay without ceasing to repeat amid sobs
the words: "They have killed me! They have killed me!"
In fact, a stab through the heart would not have had more effect upon
him than the frightful idea that had been suggested to him at the
office.
At last he arose, bathed his eyes in cold water, and again repairing to
his wife's room told her that he was going to notify Don Facundo; for he
would not forgive him for not doing so.
As he was going out, the neighbor who lived in the opposite apartment
called at the door, to offer her services "for everything, absolutely
for everything."
She was an excellent lady, a colonel's widow, whose son was a lieutenant
and gave her much sorrow. Although she had only spoken a few words with
Maximina on the stairway, it seemed that she was much drawn toward her.
Miguel was very grateful to her, and took her into the bedroom, and then
immediately set out on his errand.
He felt that he must confide in some one, and therefore he went in
search of Don Facundo. As soon as he saw him, he began to weep like a
child. The poor senor endeavored to console him as well as he was able.
"You are very impressionable, Miguelito. Who would ever have thought of
getting into such a state when the doctor has not said as yet that there
was any danger! But, at all events, as you are so much alarmed, it would
be a good idea to have a consultation of doctors, even if it were for
nothing else than to calm you."
"Yes, yes, Don Facundo; I want to have a consultation!" exclaimed the
anxious young man, as though salvation entirely depended on it.
"Very well, I will notify the doctors; you speak with the regular
attendant, so that he will not be offended."
Miguel left the apothecary shop, much calmer. When he reached home,
Maximina was a little delirious.
"She imagines," said the colonel's widow, "that there is a door open
behind the head of the bed, and much cold comes in."
"How do you feel?" asked Miguel, laying his hand on her forehead.
"Well; but a great deal of cold air comes in from that open door."
"You are right; I will go and shut it."
He pretended to do so, and for a time she was pacified. The young man
afterward wanted to kiss her; but she would not allow him, saying in
great agitation, though in a low voice:--
"How can you be so shameless? Don't you see that this senora is here?"
Not even though she was delirious did the sentiment of bashfulness
desert this young creature.
During the afternoon she was very restless, sometimes out of her head.
After her whim about the door she imagined that a number of men had come
to get her. When Miguel approached the bed, she would say, in terror:--
"See! see that man who has come to take me away!"
"Never mind, _preciosa_; as long as I am here, no one will take you
away!"
Her husband's voice and caresses brought her back to reason as by magic,
and soothed her for a few moments.
The widow insisted on staying to watch that night, for it was two nights
since either Juana or Miguel had gotten any sleep. The latter went and
threw himself down on his bed, charging that if there were the least
change, he should be called.
And in fact the widow woke him up about midnight, saying that Maximina
refused to take her potion and was very restless.
He immediately arose and ran to her room. His wife, after the struggle
that she had undergone with the worthy senora, was in a very agitated
state, her face extremely flushed and her eyes wildly rolling. She did
not know her husband. He, seeing her in that state, lost all his courage
and began to weep. Then Maximina looked straight at him; her eyes soon
lost that terrible look of delirium, and she sat up in bed, and leaning
over toward the young man asked him:--
"Why are you weeping, light of my life? why are you weeping?"
"Because you have refused to take your medicine, and if you don't, you
won't get well."
"I will take it, I will take it; don't cry, for Heaven's sake! Give it
to me!"
And she eagerly drank the spoonful that he put to her lips.
"You will not weep any more, will you?" she asked him, anxiously, and on
hearing him say "no," she kissed his hand again and again.
In the morning the consultation of physicians was held. One at a time
they went in to see the sick woman.
"How tired I am of showing my tongue!" she exclaimed, with a comic
gesture which made him laugh in spite of his tribulations.
The doctors could not come to a definite decision as to the seat of the
fever; they all were inclined, however, to the opinion that it was in
the nervous centre. They were perfectly agreed that at all hazards the
temperature must be in some way reduced. For this they prescribed an
antipyretic remedy.
Miguel himself went in search of it. Its effect was very quick. Within a
few hours after taking it the fever had subsided two degrees; in the
morning the thermometer indicated only thirty-nine and a few decimals;
her restlessness and delirium had entirely disappeared. She felt so much
better that Miguel had no doubt that in four or five days she would be
up and about.
He was so excited by his excess of joy, that, being unable to stay in
the house, he went out to enjoy the coolness of the morning, although he
had been watching the night before. He took a turn through the Retiro;
the weather was cool and beautiful; the joy that filled his soul to
overflowing made him see in the bright sun, in the songs of the birds,
in the foliage of the trees, mysterious beauties which he had never
before realized. It was as much as he could do not to throw his arms
around the solitary pedestrians whom he met.
But alas! he did not know that the remedy that the doctors had
prescribed fulfilled its work merely in cooling the blood, and had not
the power of overcoming the malady. Toward the end of the afternoon her
temperature began to rise again. So deceived was he that he attributed
it to the natural increase that all diseases tend to show at that time
of day, and did not regard it with apprehension.
The doctor likewise said nothing that was calculated to alarm him. At
eleven o'clock he went to bed, leaving Juana to watch.
Her voice aroused him from the deep sleep in which he was plunged.
"Senorito! senorito! the senorita is worse."
The voice with which a man condemned to death is wakened never sounded
more terrible than this summons did to Miguel. He was on his feet in a
flash; he ran to her room. Maximina had her eyes shut. When he came in,
she opened them, tried to smile, and closed them again--never to open
them more!
It was four o'clock in the morning. Juana ran to summon the doctor,
first stopping at the opposite apartment. The colonel's widow insisted
that it was only a fainting fit; she and Miguel put on a mustard
poultice. The priest was sent for. In a few moments he arrived, at the
same time with the doctor.
What was the use?
Miguel walked ceaselessly up and down the corridor, pale as a ghost.
Soon he paused and wanted to enter his wife's room. The widow, the cure,
and the doctor, tried to keep him back.
"No; don't go in, Rivera!"
"I know all; let me pass!"
By his face and manner they knew that it was useless to oppose him.
He threw himself on his wife's form, from which as yet not all the
warmth and life had departed, and kissed her wildly for several
minutes.
"Enough! enough! you are only killing yourself," they said to him.
Finally they drew him away.
"Better than thou," he cried, as he gave her one last kiss, "there never
has been; there never will be on earth."
"Happy are they, my son, who, on dying, can hear such words," murmured
the aged priest.
They led him away. He went straight to his study, and leaned against the
window. The day had not as yet completely dawned. The suddenness of the
shock had checked his tears. Motionless, with gleaming eyes, and leaning
his brow against the pane, he stood a long time listening to that voice
of revelation in his soul which alone has a right to speak at this
supreme hour. At last he could hear himself murmur in a hoarse voice:--
"Who knows? who knows?"