There must have been something peculiar in Miguel's voice in making this simple reply, for his wife looked at him anxiously for some time. To free himself from this scrutiny, he went on to say:—
"How rested I am; I had a nap."
He kissed her forehead, then lifted the spread, contemplated for a moment his sleeping son, and touched his lips to the little head; then he kissed his wife again, and left the room. When he went to bed he shivered, and nevertheless felt that his cheeks were on fire.
For a long time he lay in bed, with his eyes wide open and the lamp lighted. A throng of melancholy thoughts passed through his mind; a thousand forebodings and fears attacked him. Like all men of keen imagination, he leaped to the worst conclusions; he saw himself ruined, obliged with his wife to leave the social circles in which they had been accustomed to move: he also remembered his son.
"My poor boy!" he exclaimed.
And he was on the point of sobbing; but he made a manly effort to control himself, saying:—
"No! weep for lost money? Such things are done only by fools and misers. A man who has a wife like mine, and a son such as she has just given me, has no right to ask anything more of God. I am young; I have good health; if worse comes to worst, I can work for them."
As he murmured these words, he gave a violent puff to the light, and had sufficient self-control to calm himself, and was soon asleep.
XVII.
On the following morning, as soon as he was dressed, and after spending by his wife's side a much shorter time than circumstances required, he left the house and hastened to Mendoza's.