“Pepa,” said Leon, “we are going to make a last effort ... do not be frightened.”
“She is dead—I tell you she is dead....”
But Monina, as though in reply, turned over suddenly and with a violent fit of coughing threw out some more of the suffocating growth; then again she lay still, though breathing hoarsely.
“She is cold—icy cold!” exclaimed Pepa. “Doctor, doctor—”
Moreno went at once.
“No, not icy,” said Leon, laying his hand on the child’s head, “on the contrary—she is moist.”
“Yes, with perspiration,” said the doctor after a pause.
He felt the baby limbs and his eye, accustomed to watch the fluctuations of life, were intent on the flickering of this one which, when it was so nearly extinct, wavered—though perhaps only for a moment.
“Yes, her skin is moist,” Leon repeated.
“Quite moist!” Pepa echoed with a deep sigh.