The dawn was breaking when Moreno Rubio once more addressed Pepa:
“I can now pronounce a definite opinion.”
“Yes? My little girl....”
“The child is out of danger,” said the doctor, clasping the mother’s hand. “This favourable reaction has saved her. Leon wanted me to try tracheotomy.... But the treasure we thought we had lost is restored to us.”
Pepa kissed his hands, bathing them in tears.
“It is none of my doing, Señora, but Nature’s, helped by tartar emetic and the caustic solution ... nay, Nature’s only; or, to speak truly, God’s. Now it is time that I should get a little rest.”
And after giving a few instructions he left.
Pepa could not speak; she was dumb with joy; she knelt down and remained absorbed in prayer for more than half an hour. Leon sat by the child’s bed, his head sunk between his hands. Suddenly he heard a voice close to him; he looked up and saw Pepa.
“What a night you have had,” she said. “Hours of anxiety—death and then joy! You have no children; if you had, how happy your children would be! The interest you have shown in this little one—a friend’s child only, not related to you....”
“It is an irresistible passion,” he said, “that I cannot account for; it is a strange folly indeed.”