Notwithstanding her positive promise, when Rogelio opened his eyes after
a peaceful and beneficial sleep, he saw Esclavita standing at his
mother’s bedside, giving her a cup of broth. Señora de Pardiñas
complained greatly of the contusion in the spine, but her headache was
much better. Sanchez de Abrojo soon came and justified her complaints by
saying that, judging by the symptoms, the contusion threatened to assume
an erysipelatous character, for which reason, in order to avoid the
pernicious effects of cold on the injured parts, it would be well to
remain in bed. “And even if he had given me permission, I could not have
got up,” Señora de Pardiñas said. “I feel as if I had been tossed in a
blanket and been beaten with sand-bags afterward. There is not a bone
in my body that does not ache. It is only now that I begin to feel the
full effects of the bruise.”
Rogelio took his chocolate, seated at the foot of his mother’s bed, and
showed little inclination to stir from there. But Doña Aurora soon
observed this. “Oh, oh, child,” she cried, “Hurry off to college! You
know very well that the professors, especially Ruiz del Monte, won’t
excuse absences. The examinations will come afterward, and then you will
be wondering why you didn’t pass.”
He must, then, shake off his laziness, go to his room, bathe his face
with cold water, wrap himself well in his cloak and proceed to the
confounded “_chocolate factory_,” as he called the University, for the
reason that in no place is there more grinding going on. When he left
the warm atmosphere of the house, his faculties brightened by his
matutinal ablutions, and felt the cold of the early morning in his eyes
and on his lips, it seemed to Rogelio as if a veil of fog had suddenly
been rent apart and his recollections of the day before took clear and
distinct shape in his mind. At this hour his sweetheart, the little girl
with the superfluous tooth, would be leaning over the balcony to see,
first the mounted artillerymen, and then himself pass by. Rogelio shook
with laughter when he recalled this episode. “What a joke!” he said to
himself. “What a way I took to find a sweetheart!” Then he remembered
what had passed during the night. “I don’t know what came over me,” he
thought. “Mamma’s fall dazed me. I said some stupendous things to
Esclavita. That, indeed, was like a declaration of love, in earnest;
yes, truly. And I felt it all, and if I had not tried hard to control
myself, I should have cried. And she, too, was inclined to be
sentimental. But looking at it calmly, nothing that we said to each
other compromises either of us. They were words that slip from
one--well--because at times--if I were required now to give an
explanation of why I said them I could not do it. They came without my
thinking. Perhaps this is _love_; as for the other, that was pure
make-believe. Well, _this_ at least, if mamma were to find it out, would
not vex her so much as what was near happening the other day. In what
happened last night I don’t see anything bad.” And as he exchanged a
salutation at the door of the University with the sleepy door-keeper,
his thoughts took another direction, and he said to himself, “I shall
make a nice show of myself if I am questioned on the lesson to-day.”
In the afternoon the house was full of friends who had heard of the
accident and who had come to offer their services. There were two or
three ladies who were allowed into the bed-room to chat with the
patient, whose head was well now and who, consequently, was not
disturbed by the noise. The _habitués_ of the house came as usual and
remained in the dressing-room to accompany the “son of the victim,” as
Rogelio laughingly called himself. They discussed the possible
consequences of the fall; they devoted a good half hour to a
consideration of what would have happened if the patient, instead of
setting her heel down in _this_ way had set it down in _that_. Only Lain
Calvo, the representative in that senile assemblage, at once of common
sense and of malevolence, pretended deafness more than ever, confining
himself to stirring the fire and looking over the pictures and
caricatures in the illustrated periodicals. Two or three times he took
his ear-trumpet from his pocket and made a pretense of cleaning it and
putting it into his ear, but the plainest proof that he heard perfectly
was, that under pretense of showing some illustration or other in _La
Ilustracion Iberica_ to Rogelio, he leaned toward the student and said
to him with a look that would better have become the face of a
mischievous urchin than of a grave old man:
“When are those manikins going to stop their senseless chatter, boy?
They are even more idiotic to-day than usual. What is the use of talking
about what the possible consequence might be of something that might
possibly have happened but that didn’t happen? It is like saying, ‘If
she had fallen on her head instead of on her side it would have killed
her.’”
Then another discussion arose--in relation also to the great event of
the fall--as to whether it might not be well for some friend to stay and
take care of the patient, as there were certain services which Rogelio,
being a man and inexperienced in such matters besides, could not very
well render her. But here Don Gaspar Febrero broke out, emphasizing his
asseverations by striking the ferule of his crutch against the
chimney-guard:
“Why, she has the best nurse she could possibly have! Don’t be afraid
but that our friend Doña Aurora will be well taken care of by the
sympathetic Esclavita. You may be sure she will wait on her like a
sister of charity. Don’t pity Doña Aurora; pity a poor fellow like me,
rather, who will have no Esclavita at his pillow to close his dying
eyes, when his last hour comes.”
The company here all protested, with the exception of Lain Calvo, whose
attention seemed to be occupied in adjusting his trumpet in his ear.
“You, Don Gaspar, why, you will live to bury us all! Why you are only in
the prime of life! You are as vigorous as a boy.”
Don Gaspar shook his head, but with an air of such Olympic serenity,
with so animated an expression on his classical features that he seemed
rather a demi-god of antiquity affirming his immortality than an old man
of our restless age announcing the decline of his vital powers.
“The truth is,” interposed Lain Calvo, “that we are all like moldy
parchment, ready to burn to dust at a touch, like the mummies of Peru.
Is not that what you were saying, Don Gaspar?”
“He was saying,” screamed Rojas, “that he would like to have Esclavita,
Doña Aurora’s maid, to nurse him when he is sick.”
“What an idea!” exclaimed the Asturian. “With a girl like that to take
care of him, an old man would soon be in his grave, even if he were as
strong as an oak, _caray_. Unless he were like King David.” And turning
to Rogelio, he added. “What does the son of the house say to that? Would
he be willing to give up the pretty girl to the old fellows? Wouldn’t
he protest against it?”
Whether because of the manner in which the question was put to him, or
because his conscience was not altogether tranquil, or finally because
owing to his youth and inexperience he had not the self-possession
demanded by the occasion, Rogelio turned crimson (which was the more
noticeable in him, on account of his habitual pallor), and stammered:
“No--to Señor Febrero--I--I--” And in his own mind, he said “Hypocrite!
You can’t hear, indeed. I verily believe you can hear the grass grow.”
The arrangements for the night were the same as on the previous night,
only that, in order not to vitiate the air of the bed-room, Rogelio’s
bed was placed in the dressing-room, the door between the two rooms
being left open. It was long before the patient fell asleep; she
complained of much pain, of a sensation of heat in the injured leg, and
an unaccountable feeling of weariness. Rogelio, laying his hand on her
forehead, noticed that it was hot, a fact which kept him from sleeping,
without preventing him, however, from wondering a little if Esclavita
would come to chat a while with him, a thing which he at once feared and
desired. Debating this question in his mind, he at last fell asleep, and
waking toward morning, he saw the girl approach his bedside. Leaning
over him, she said quickly, “I can’t stir from there; she is continually
asking for water. She complains of pains all over her body. It is all
the effect of the fall.” Rogelio, greatly troubled, answered softly,
“Very well, Suriña.” But this bad news prevented him from falling asleep
again. Was there any danger? Was this the beginning of a fever? The
doctor, who came at an early hour, relieved him from his apprehensions.
“All this,” he said, “is the after-effect of the fall. The fever is
slight. The inflammation we will soon have under control. Give me a
piece of paper. You will see an improvement by evening.” In the evening,
instead of the promised improvement, there was an increase in the fever,
but at nightfall a change for the better took place, and at ten o’clock
the patient ate with appetite the wing of a chicken. “Ah, God be
praised!” she cried. “The pain in my bones seems better now. I felt such
an oppression inside. Child, I think I shall soon be myself again.” This
cheerful prognostication was followed by a period of freedom from pain,
and toward midnight Doña Aurora was enjoying the profound and peaceful
slumber of a convalescent.
“To-day she will come flying,” said Rogelio to himself, resolving to
keep awake, and notwithstanding his sophistical arguments to prove _all
that_ of no importance whatever, he felt his nerves thrill with
excitement, and his heart throb tumultuously.
[Illustration]