We were filled with anxiety concerning the dramatic scene that was going to take place. Sabas opened two or three doors consecutively, without being able to find his wife. But his intrepid heart was not cast down. Without uttering a word he mounted to the upper story. We followed him anxiously.
Matilde was in her room, and Cristina was with her. At sight of her husband she groaned wrathfully, and started towards another door to try to get away again. Cristina tried to detain her.
"Let me go!" she cried madly; "I don't wish to see him."
"Matilde, for heaven's sake!" cried Cristina, embracing her.
"Let me go, let me go! Everything is over between us two!"
Then the fugitive, standing in the middle of the room, showed that his strength was leaving him. He put his hand feebly to his forehead, his legs doubled under him, and, taking just enough steps towards a sofa to reach it, he fell across it in a swoon.
We all ran to his aid, and his offended wife was not the last one. On the contrary, it was she who, grieving and trembling, bathed his temples with water, and unfastened his waistcoat and shirt to help him breathe, exclaiming wildly:
"Sabas, my Sabas! Forgive me!"
Meanwhile, Doña Amparo applied to his nostrils various chemical products of a stimulating nature. The rest of us helped on the restorative work more or less modestly, bringing a carafe of water, uncorking bottles, or giving air to the fainting man by means of a fan.
The only one who remained inactive, seeming indisposed to offer any hygienic aid to her brother, was Cristina. Standing erect near us, she looked strangely severe. Doubtless her behavior might seem to some persons cruel and unnatural; but not to me, for my deep, unreasoning love for this woman made all that she did seem right and proper, her every movement adorable.