And Martí? Poor Emilio! Every time that I saw him I felt more and more attracted by his generosity and innocence. I thought that he was a little thinner, but always cheerful and always confiding. We spent one afternoon alone at the seaside. As neither he nor I was out of humor our conversation ran playfully from one subject to another, and we laughed at the anecdotes we happened to remember. One of those that I told had better fortune than it deserved. He laughed so much that at the end he grew pale, put his hand to his chest, and, to the great terror of us both, threw up blood. I helped him as well as I could, carried him to a fountain near by, where he drank water and washed himself. I was much startled by this. I could scarcely speak. I encouraged him, however, telling him that this was not important, and citing numerous cases of friends who had had this sort of thing without any serious consequences. When he had composed himself, he smiled.
"You are right. It is nothing. I am sure that my lungs are perfectly sound, because until now I have never even coughed. I will take a little better care of myself, and when summer comes, I will go as a precautionary measure to Panticosa. But it is necessary to keep all this from Cristina. You know how women are. Don't say anything to Castell either. He is very pessimistic, and his affection for me would make him alarmed. He would be capable, in his anxiety, of revealing it to Cristina."
My eyes, in spite of myself, filled with tears. Seeing this, he appeared surprised; there was a moment of suspense; then, laughing aloud, he embraced me, exclaiming:
"You are very original, Captain! There is some strength to be desired here too! But I confess that if I had not such a practical temperament, and were not accustomed to examine every subject coolly, this would make me apprehensive. Fortunately, I know what to count on in the strength of my constitution."
"My emotion was caused by surprise," I hastened to say, to mend matters. "And then I am not very well these days; my nerves are upset. But, as I have said, this means nothing, especially for you, who seem to be such a robust man."
"The most robust of men! I have nothing more than a rather weak stomach, and sometimes a little kidney trouble. Except for this, I am an oak. If this were not so, how could I endure all the work loaded on my shoulders, the frequent journeys, and all that I have to carry?"
"Exactly. I have no doubt of it. And you have never before felt any pain in your lungs?"
Martí took a few steps, looked at me closely, and in a voice made to seem strong by a special effort, answered:
"My lungs are those of an athlete!"
"Indeed?"