"I do not want to vex her."
But even while she spoke she turned ashy pale; she strained her neck, her eyes seemed starting out of her head—she was listening to a sound that was full of terrors to her. She had heard footsteps.
"He is coming!" exclaimed Golfin, sympathizing in his patient's alarm.
"Yes, here he comes!" cried Florentina, and she flew to the door.
It was he. Pablo had opened the door and walked softly into the room—straight in, from the habit he had acquired during years of blindness. He came in smiling, and his eyes, freed from the bandage, which he had himself removed, looked straight before him. They were as yet unaccustomed to the muscular action which makes them turn, and were hardly aware of objects lying out of the direct line of vision. It was literally true of him—as it is of many who never were blind in their lives—that he only saw what was directly under his eyes.
"Cousin!" said he going towards her: "Why have you not been to see me to-day? I have had to come to look for you. Your father told me you were doing some work for the poor—so I suppose I must forgive you."
Florentina did not know what to say; she was annoyed. Pablo had not observed either Golfin or Nela, and Florentina, intending to keep him from approaching the sofa, went towards the window; then, picking up some pieces of stuff, she sat down as if she were going to sew. The full light of the sun fell upon her, shedding a vivid glow on all her left side and giving the most charming relief to her pretty head with its russet brown hair. Her beauty seemed radiant; like the very personification and incarnation of light. Her hair was somewhat in disorder, and her thin morning dress followed the graceful lines of her slender figure, while her simple and dignified pose was worthy of the noblest ideals of art.
"Cousin," she said with a slight frown on her pretty brow, "Don Teodoro has not yet given you leave to-day to take your bandage off. That is not right."
"He will give me leave presently," said the young man laughing. "And it cannot hurt me; I am really quite well. And if it did do me harm, I should not care.—No, I should not care if I became blind again, after having seen you."