At the end of some moments, after throwing himself on the sofa and remaining motionless with his head sunk on his chest, he said to Pablito:
"Forgive me, Pablo—but I want to be left alone, I am not equal to talking now."
So the brother-in-law withdrew.
At the end of some time, the door was reopened without the young man noticing it, and a shadow slipped toward him and placed upon the nearest chair a tray with a cup and some plates.
"Oh, is that you, Cecilia?"
"Whether you like it or not, you must take something, for I am certain you have not broken your fast," said the girl, dragging a little table forward and placing the steaming soup upon it.
"How good you are, Cecilia!" he exclaimed, seizing one of her hands. That exclamation was a cry of affection and enthusiasm, mingled with remorse that he had ever been able to doubt her.
"How good you are! How good you are!" he repeated with tears in his eyes. "What you did that night! Oh! Nobody else would have done it, nobody else! A saint descended from heaven would not have done it—none of those living about you are worthy to kiss the dust from your feet."
And the young man, moved by his own words, sobbed bitterly while covering the hand he held with tears and kisses.
Cecilia, after turning first deep scarlet and then pale, said in a somewhat cold and distant tone: