His remorse quickly subsided, and gave way to a thousand pleasant emotions of paternity. He wanted to go in a second time; but the women! always those women!—they blocked his way, saying that the infant was not yet washed and swaddled, or his wife put to bed.
When all this was accomplished, he went into her room; his wife was lovelier than ever as she lay in bed, with a lace cap adorned with blue ribbons on her head, and wearing a clean white night-dress. He sat down at the head of the bed, and the two looked at each other in amazement; under the pretext of feeling of her pulse, he pressed her hand long and tenderly. La brigadiera then presented him a bundle of clothes, saying:—
"Here you have your son."
Miguel took the bundle and lifted it close to his eyes, and saw a little round red face without a nose, its eyes shut, and its forehead depressed, and from its comparatively enormous mouth issued sounds that were farthest from melodious.
"How ugly it is!" he said aloud.
A cry of indignation escaped from every one of the women, even his wife.
"What an atrocious thing to say, Rivera!"—"How can you imagine such a thing!"—"What makes you think that it is ugly, señorito?"—"It is certainly one of the loveliest babies that I ever saw, Rivera."—"Do you expect it at this time of its life to have perfect features?"
"Give it here, give it here!" said la brigadiera, snatching it from his hands.
"That is the kind of flowers that you give the poor little creature!"
"I should like to know what kind of a thing you were two hours after you were born, señorito," exclaimed Juana.