Cristina watched us with a melancholy smile. She was happy in seeing her husband so cheerful, although she knew that this could not last long.
And, indeed, a violent attack of coughing soon came to interrupt most sadly our chat. He became livid and half-stifled, holding his head between his hands.
"The chill of the night air is bad for you. It is the chill of night that brought it on, Emilio," said Cristina. "It is time for you to go to rest."
He lifted his hand, making lively signs of negation with it. When the attack subsided, and he could speak, he exclaimed:
"No, don't take him away from me! I feel much better. The captain is a mouthful of oxygen. He brings me the good sea air."
I stayed half an hour longer, to please him. At last I went, not before promising to return early the next day. I did not wish to go in that night to pay my respects to Doña Amparo. I had already had notice from Sabas that she had taken up a fashion lately of fainting away at sight of any friend whatsoever. As the hour seemed to me unseasonable for such an organic phenomenon, I deferred it until another more suitable.
Cristina came with me to the door.
"How do you find him?" she asked, fixing an anxious look upon me.
"I don't find him well. But while there is life, who knows? who knows?"
Nobody could help knowing. She also knew; but the unhappy lady sought some way to hide the truth from herself.