Rogelio was still laughing at himself at the idea of his engagement when
they were nearing the bottom of the stairs, for which reason he
neglected to offer Doña Aurora his arm, as was his custom. A sudden cry
and the sound of a fall froze the blood in his veins as he saw his
mother slip and fall headlong down the stairs on the tiled floor of the
hall. It is only on supreme occasions that the real depth of our
sentiment is revealed to us. Rogelio did not know that there were chords
in his larynx or tones in his voice capable of the heart-rending pathos
with which he uttered the words:
“Mother! my darling mother!”
He cleared at a bound the steps down which his mother had fallen, and
in an instant had her on her feet and was holding her in his arms and
pressing her to his heart, examining her wildly to assure himself that
she was not dead and that she had no bones broken. Suddenly he uttered a
terrified cry.
“Blood, mamma! you are bleeding. Where are you bleeding? Here. Good
heavens, blood!”
Her head had struck against the edge of one of the steps, and the wound
was bleeding slightly. Half stunned as Señora de Pardiñas was by the
force of the blow, the agonized voice of her son recalled her to
herself, and she answered faintly:
“Don’t be frightened, child; it is nothing; you may believe me, it is
nothing. I am a little better now.”
“There is no one in the porter’s room. I am going upstairs to get some
vinegar--some water----”
“No, child, no, for Heaven’s sake. Don’t call any one; make no
disturbance. Help me gently to the carriage. For illness or the like,
the best place is home.”
Trembling, and covered with a cold sweat, Rogelio assisted his mother to
the carriage, into which he lifted her bodily, and then made her lean
back in a corner while he fanned her with his handkerchief, thinking,
with terror, “Can there have been any injury to the brain?”
“Home--drive slowly,” he said to the coachman, who had turned round
curious to know what had happened. And unable to control himself, he
threw his arms around his mother, putting the question usual in such
cases:
“But mamma, how did you fall?”
“I don’t know, child. My foot slipped; it must have been the heels of
the new shoes; or my foot may have caught in the flounce of my dress.”
“It was my fault not to have given you my arm. I am a brute. Where does
it pain you? How do you feel now, mamma?”
“I don’t know; I think I am going to faint,” answered his mother, in a
weak voice.
And indeed she looked as if she were going to faint, to judge from the
cold perspiration and the deathly pallor that overspread her face.
Rogelio, greatly alarmed, was on the point of calling out to the
coachman to drive to an apothecary’s when his mother revived a little
and made signs to him that she was better, and the carriage rolled on
toward the house. When Rogelio, assisted by the footman, was helping his
mother out of the carriage, she uttered a cry.
“Where do you feel pain?” Rogelio asked her.
“In this leg. There, don’t be frightened. It is nothing.”
When Esclavita was informed of what had occurred, she hastened to her
mistress without useless outcries, and quickly and skillfully loosened
her clothing, applied vinegar to her temples, and afterward undressed
her and put her comfortably to bed. Doña Aurora complained of a desire
to retch, of heaviness, of oppression, of continued nausea, and an
inclination to vomit--all which made the student say to himself with
terror, “My God! there is concussion of the brain.” He called Esclavita
apart and said to her hurriedly: “Take care of her, I am going to
Sanchez del Abrojo and I will not come back without him.”
In effect, he returned with him after a delay of two hours, and the
distinguished physician, having made a careful examination of the
patient, and a minute and skillful investigation into the manner of the
fall, was obliged to acknowledge that there had been a little, a very
little, cerebral congestion. The only treatment he prescribed was rest
in bed, and diet until the disturbance in the stomach should be settled.
The other injuries were of little consequence--the lesion on the
forehead did not go beyond the skin; the contusion on the left leg was
no more than a bruise of little importance. In short, it was nothing.
All she required was rest.
To carry out the physician’s orders, then took place that revolution in
the habits of the household, and that transformation in the aspect of
the house itself, which sickness always brings with it. The household
concentrated itself within the narrow limits of the bedroom and
dressing-room of the patient. Rogelio and Esclavita took up their
station there--the former receiving the visitors; the latter changing
the cloths wet with arnica, bringing cups of lime-leaf tea, burning
lavender, and undertaking whispered commissions and receiving keys
slipped into her hand secretly. “Don’t let the boy want for anything.
Remember to warm his bed.” To these recommendations, which Esclavita
listened to with religious attention, followed suppressed groans. “Oh,
how this wretched leg hurts me. My head is splitting with pain!”
Esclavita performed her duties as sick nurse with that earnest and
silent assiduity which she always displayed when employed in the service
of others. She came and went with noiseless footsteps and without
rustling of garments. She took charge of everything, and if she was
absent for a moment from the bedroom it was because she was in the
kitchen, compounding some potion. She even managed to get time to give
Rogelio his dinner, without neglecting her mistress; but no one knew at
what hour she herself had taken food on that memorable day.
When the night was advanced and every one had retired, she trimmed a
lamp carefully and set it on the floor so that the light should not
disturb the patient. She then placed a low chair at the head of the bed
and seated herself in it. As Rogelio, who was sitting in an easy-chair
in the dressing-room, made no motion to retire, she went to him and
whispered to him, in tones of entreaty, “Go to bed, Señorito; don’t stay
here.” The patient, who had begun to doze, overheard the words and added
her entreaties to Esclavita’s, saying, “Child, do go to bed. You are not
accustomed to sitting up; it will injure your health. Don’t be foolish;
go to bed. Esclavita is taking the best possible care of me.” But it was
impossible to persuade Rogelio, and they compromised the matter by
deciding that a temporary bed should be made for him on the floor. The
little Galician, displaying extraordinary strength, brought in two
mattresses, beat the pillows noiselessly, and as noiselessly made up the
bed. Rogelio divested himself of his coat and waistcoat only, and thus,
half dressed, lay down. Then only did he begin to feel the extreme
exhaustion which follows great shocks and profound emotions. At the same
time a comical recollection crossed his mind.
“And my sweetheart,” he said to himself, “will she be at the window
to-morrow to see me pass by?”