THE CRISIS.
An hour later Monina and Tachana were playing on the floor with paper birds and boxes that Leon had made for them, while he restored order and sorted out what could be saved from the effects of the invasion. The noise of an opening door made him look up and he saw before him his father-in-law, the Marquis de Tellería. He looked aged, and his face, more lined and wrinkled than usual, betrayed some nervous tension or perhaps the neglect of some cosmetic he was accustomed to use; his eyes, dim with tears or want of sleep, blinked and twinkled like little lamps that flicker for want of oil and struggle with a feeble smoky flame. His dress only remained unchanged and was as precise and neat as ever; but his voice, formerly bold and decided, as that of a man who has always something to say that is worth hearing, was low, timid and deprecatory. Leon felt greater pity than ever for the old man, and he offered him a chair.
“I am suffering from fever,” said the marquis, putting out a hand that Leon might feel his pulse. “For the last three nights I have not slept at all; and last night I thought I should have died of exhaustion and shame.”
Leon asked one or two questions as to the cause of his distress and sleeplessness.
“I will tell you all about it. From you I can have no secrets,” said Tellería sighing deeply. “In spite of all that has happened between you and María—which I deplore with all my heart—oh! but I still hope to see you reconciled.... In spite of everything you will always be a son to me—a dear son.”
So much mellifluous flattery put Leon on his guard.
“Well, dreadful things have been happening. Your hair will stand on end when you hear it all, my dear son. But I have a good deal of fever, have I not? My temperament is so sensitive and nervous, and I cannot bear these great agitations. God grant you may never go through in your own house such scenes as have taken place in ours these last few days! I have come on purpose to tell you, and you see I do not know how to begin. I am afraid.... I dare not.”
“I understand it all perfectly,” said Leon, interrupting this long preamble. “The moment has come when it is no longer possible to carry on the system of drifting. Everything in this world must come to an end, even the dishonest farce of those who live by spending what they have not got. A day comes when the creditors are tired of waiting, when the workmen who have been put off from day to day—upholsterers, tailors, drapers, purveyors of all kinds—send a cry up to heaven, and ceasing to ask, proceed to take; ceasing to grumble, begin to rail.”
“Yes,” said the marquis closing his eyes. “That day has come. They would not listen to my good counsel and now the catastrophe has fallen; a hideous catastrophe, of which it is impossible to foresee the consequences. In one word, my dear fellow, we are in danger of having an attachment put upon the house.... I do not care for the loss of all the fashionable rubbish that Milagros has collected from half a hundred shops without paying for it; what I feel is the scandal, the disgrace! The day before yesterday a dealer who supplies us with groceries, and who has been to the house again and again, set up the most terrific hubbub on the stairs. I heard his torrent of abuse in my study, and rushed out in a fury, but he retreated into the street where he continued his harangue. Yesterday the man we hire the carriage from refused to serve us any more, and the worst of it is that he wrote me a most insolent letter.... I will show you....”
“No, no. There is no need,” said Leon, staying the trembling hand with which the old man was fumbling in his pockets. “I can imagine what the poor wretch would say.”