"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 Plácida.
"Who was your visitor?" she asked.
"It was no consequence; a man came to speak with me about the paper."