“What are you talking about my love?”
“Its walls are crushing me.”
“Good Heavens! do not talk so wildly!”
“What delirious fancies are these! It is much to be regretted that your sound judgment....”
“This house....”
“Is a house ... you know, a building....”
At this instant Polito flew into the room with outspread arms and flung them round his sister exclaiming: “Mariquilla, so at last your blessed husband will allow us to see you! He is a gaoler, a bandit, a wretch! I was in the court-yard looking on at a fight between two dogs and fourteen rats when they told me I might see you. I rushed up.—And your husband is out there too, looking like a statue, and more stony than the group of Hymen. Dear little woman, you are quite well now, are you not?—you will get up and get away from this place?”
Milagros almost skinned her elbow driving it against her son’s ribs, but without putting a check on this torrent of indiscretion.
“There is a strange and horrible look of fear on all your faces,” said María, gazing at them all in turn. “You look as if you longed to tell me, but at the same time wanted to hide some dreadful fact.”
“My darling child, you are still far from strong,” said the marquis stroking her hair. “When you are quite well again and can come home with us....”