“So that in short you do not care for your wife—neither more nor less,” said Rubio, who liked to state facts as plainly as possible.
“I have always had a horror of falsehood,” replied Leon. “And I am bound to confess that María does not inspire me with any affectionate emotion. I have two feelings when I think of her: one is the deepest pity; the other is a certain amount of respect.”
“Precisely; but those feelings are not enough to make a good husband; however, there are others in your soul which might make you—and assuredly do make you a kind-hearted man. Tell me, do you wish your wife to live?”
Leon started like a man who has been struck.
“Such a question is an insult. The very disquietude of my conscience impels me to desire that María should not die.”
“Very good. Then if you wish that María should live,” said Moreno, laying his hand on his friends’ shoulder, “the first indispensable thing is to soothe the irritation produced by her jealousy—which, unfortunately, is but too well-founded; her mind has received a terrible shock, and it must be allowed to recover its balance. Every life has, as it were a rhythm, a beat, of its own, to which it goes on regularly and smoothly. A sudden and complete disturbance of the measure may result in the gravest consequences, even in death. We have here an instance in point. We must therefore lay ourselves out to restore as quickly, and as effectually as possible, the steady measure that has been disturbed; then we can deal with the frightful blow to the nervous system which has affected, and may be fatal to the brain. All these jealousies must be eliminated as quickly as possible, so that her feelings not being excited, the whole machine may have a chance of recovering its tone and balance. All the scenes which gave rise to her attack must by degrees be effaced from her memory. If she lives there will be time enough to let her know the truth. She must be saved from any fresh outbreaks of anger or despair by being persuaded that nothing has occurred; and above all, my dear friend, you must treat her like a sick child; give her every thing she asks for and indulge all her whims, particularly as concerns anything that may divert and occupy her mind. Your wife—I am well aware—will claim your love and devotion: it is impossible to restrict her in her demands.”
It was after this that Leon raised the question of removing his wife from Suertebella; but Rubio positively negatived the proposal.
Having abandoned this idea as homicide—that was the word employed by Moreno—they agreed to dismantle the room, to send to Madrid for the servants who were in the habit of waiting on María and for various trifles which would answer the purpose of carrying out the illusion. Before they parted Leon said to his friend.
“Answer me frankly. Will my wife die?”