"Oh, Don Julian!"
"Silence!" I exclaimed, putting my finger on my lips.
Next, I seized upon my god-daughter, taking her in my arms and silently covering the child with warm and tender kisses. But she did not receive them in the silence that was to be desired. Frightened by my beard, and perhaps pricked by it, she began at once crying to heaven.
I heard the voice of Cristina.
"Who is there?"
And she appeared from the end of the corridor. On seeing me, she paused for an instant, then immediately came on to me, holding out both hands with an affectionate gesture.
"Oh, Captain! My poor Emilio is dying!"
I saw her eyes cloud with tears. I pressed those beautiful hands that I held, and murmured some words of hope. Perhaps her fears were exaggerated. Emilio had always enjoyed good health; but this sort of temperament bore disease for many years. I asked if it were possible to see him at that hour, and, having been answered affirmatively, made ready to go in. Cristina would not let me enter until she had first prepared him. He was very nervous, and a sudden emotion might injure him. While she was gone to perform this gentle duty, Sabas improved the opportunity to give me his hand, dark as an Asiatic colonial's, in good-by and departed with his energetic characteristic importance. Through the door that still stood open I saw him go down the stairs carrying in his ardent glance desolation and tears for the contralto.
"Come in, come in this minute!" It was the voice of Emilio, a little hoarse, but as vigorous as ever. I hastened towards the place whence came the sound, and entered a room where the luxury of the furniture was in contrast with the modesty of the things in the rest of the place. He was reclining in an arm-chair with two cushions at his back, wearing an elegant dressing-gown. The light of a candle fell on his face, where I could see very clearly the fatal signs of tuberculosis. But that face was beautiful, more beautiful and more interesting than any I had ever seen. The hair of head and beard was longer; this with the whiteness of the skin and the great, black, melancholy eyes made him look like the Nazarene. Those eyes shone at sight of me with a frank and cordial expression. He took my hand and, pressing it affectionately between his own, said several times in a low voice:
"Captain! Captain! Captain! How good you are!"