Doña Gertrudis was wrapt up in a magnificent plush comforter, and her head was covered with a net, underneath which appeared her hair turning from auburn to white. Her features were delicate and regular, and of a singularly faded pallor. Her eyes were blue and extremely melancholy. The marks of close confinement rather than of illness were to be seen in that face.
"This roaring in my ears is killing me, killing me. I cannot eat, I cannot sleep, I cannot get any rest anywhere."
"I think that you ought to stay in your room."
"That is worse, Isidorito, that is worse. In my room I cannot distract my thoughts. My mind begins to grind like a mill, and it ends by giving me a fever. I am much sicker than people give me credit for. They'll see how this will end. To-day I am so nervous, so nervous.—Feel my pulse, Isidorito, and tell me if I am not feverish."
As she drew out her thin hand and gave it to the young man, Don Mariano and Don Maximo, who were engaged in lively discussion in the recess of a balconied window, turned their faces in her direction and smiled. Doña Gertrudis blushed a little and hastened to hide her hand under her comforter.
"Your wife already has a new physician!" added Don Maximo, in a tone of irony.
"Bah, bah, bah! What cat or dog is there in town that my wife won't have taken into consultation? These days she is furious with you, and says that she is going to die without your paying any attention to her. I find her better than ever. But we shall see, Don Maximo. Do you really believe that we can accept the line from Miramar?"
"And why not?"
"Don't you comprehend that it would swamp us forever?"
"Don Mariano, it seems to me that you are blinded. What is of importance for Nieva is to have a railroad right away, right away, I say!"