XXVIII.
By the advice of all, it was determined that la brigadiera and her daughter should leave Madrid and go to live at the Astillero of Santander. It was the only place, as they already had a house rented, that offered them immediately a secret refuge where to hide their shame.
After they had taken their departure, Miguel remained more calm. Nevertheless, a deep sadness had taken possession of his heart, which neither his wife's love nor the infantile graces of his baby were sufficient to dissipate. And the reason was that, beyond the grief caused by his sister's disgrace, he lived tormented by the thought of his impending ruin. He could not hide the fact that Eguiburu was crouching like a tiger, ready to leap upon him and tear him to pieces.
He saw Mendoza very rarely; he noticed that he avoided meeting him, and when this was unavoidable, their conversation was short and embarrassed on both sides.
One day he went home at night-all, pale enough. Maximina, who, as always, came to meet him, with the baby in her arms, did not notice it because it was so dark. He kissed his child affectionately again and again, and then went into his study. His wife stood at the door, motionless, gazing sadly at him.
"A light," said he, in imperious tones.
Maximina ran to the dining-room, left the baby in Juana's hands, and she herself brought the lighted candles. Miguel paid no attention to her, and began to write. When after a few moments he lifted his head, he saw her leaning against the mantel-piece, looking at him, her eyes brimming with tears.
"Why are you here? What is the matter?"
The little wife slowly approached him, and laying one hand on his shoulder, said, with a melancholy attempt at a smile:—
"Have I done anything wrong, Miguel?"