The fainting fits of Doña Amparo grew constantly more frequent and prolonged. Her sensibility became so over-excited by this, that the fluttering of a butterfly was enough to throw her into a convulsion, from which she could only recover by covering everybody's face, as of old, with tears and kisses. As for me, being the friend most often at hand, I received the greater part of these inundations.
Sabas came every day at eleven o'clock, before going for his usual promenade to the café where he took his vermouth. If the doctor had said that the invalid had less fever (and he often said it to encourage him), this gave our dandy so much satisfaction that he could not do less than celebrate by going to breakfast at the café, and then go off on an excursion with friends of both sexes.
We saw the end approaching. As the fatal hour drew near, Emilio showed himself less and less apprehensive, occupying himself constantly with making calculations and planning out new schemes. Even in the middle of the night he would beg for paper, and scratch down figures.
"Next week I think I shall be able to be out," he said to me one morning. "There is nothing ailing me now. The pain in the kidneys is all gone; my tongue is almost clean. If this cough that keeps me awake would only leave me, I should be quite well. To-day I feel just like walking, like taking a good long walk."
And he proved his words by getting up from his chair and taking several steps.
"I am going to the dining-room," he said, opening the door; "see what a surprise I am going to give Cristina."
And he walked down the passage. I stood looking at him from the threshold of his room. When he had got about half-way, the poor fellow toppled, and before I could get to him, fell his length upon the floor. Several years have passed since then, and yet they have not been able to obscure in my soul the shamed and melancholy smile he gave me as I came to him.
"That's bad, Captain!"
I lifted him and carried him in my arms back to his chair. He weighed no more than a child. Cristina, as well as I, reproved his imprudence, but we readily convinced him that his weakness came from lack of nourishment. If he would eat more his strength would increase rapidly, and we should soon see him able to walk out in the garden as of old.
Although Cristina knew the seriousness of his condition, and made herself no illusions regarding the outcome, I observed in her a sort of ignorance or disregard which, at such a time, could not fail to make me anxious. She thought certainly that his illness was unto death, but by every word that came from her mouth I perceived that she judged the end to be very far off. I could see that it was very near. And yet it was nearer than even I supposed. On the day following his fall in the passage, I went to see him between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning. Contrary to his custom, he had not dressed. He said he found himself a little fatigued from coughing. I cheered him up by calling him only lazy, and sat down beside him. I found him indeed very feeble, and looking very much discouraged. In spite of this he was chatty and cheerful as always. At last he decided to get up, but before doing so we decided that he should take a little cup of broth to give him strength. Cristina went out to prepare it. A few moments after, the sick man had an attack of coughing and choking that nearly overcame him. I did not call Cristina, not wishing to alarm her, and began to fan him, as usual, to give him air, hoping that he would quickly recover. Yet, without knowing why, I felt more disturbed than usual. My heart beat violently, seeing that pallid face, with its closed eyes and the opened mouth struggling for breath. As the seconds went by, my anxiety increased in like measure, and I reached my hand towards the bell-button. But at that moment Martí opened his eyes and smiled sweetly. I calmed myself and said: