At Madrid, for many years her energy had been prodigious, a real model for all who feel prompted to acts of charity. With the help of two or three ladies of rank, equally devoted to their humble and suffering neighbors, she had organized more than twenty dramatic performances, and as many fancy balls, six bull-fights and two cock-fights, all for the benefit of the poor.
Among her other manias, which were apt to be but transient, however, was one which perhaps is less commendable than that for helping the needy, and which consisted in surrounding herself with dogs and cats, devoting herself to these animals with an affection really worthy to be called love. Lately, since she had lived at Socartes, she had kept a toy-terrier which had been brought to her as a commission from England by Ulises Buli, the head of the machinery department. This was a delicate and slender creature, as tricky and amusing as a child. It was called Líli, and had cost a small fortune in London—as dogs go.
On fine days the trio walked out together; when it was wet they played and sang, for Sofía had a modest pipe which, at Socartes, passed for singing. The deputy engineer had a deep bass voice, and Teodoro likewise was basso profondo. Cárlos could sing but a little higher, so that the whole effect was somewhat like a priestly choir, in which Sofía's treble came out as if she were a priestess being carried off to be immolated. All the pieces they sang were—or at any rate sounded like—priests offering a sacrifice, and a priestess being sacrificed.
On the days when they walked far they took with them a sort of picnic afternoon meal. One evening—it was at the end of September, and six days after the doctor's arrival at the mines—the party were returning homewards in the following order: Líli, Sofía, Teodoro, Cárlos. The path was too narrow to allow of their walking two and two. Líli wore a little sky-blue coat or gaberdine with his mistress's initials worked upon it; Sofía carried her parasol like a gun over her shoulder, and Teodoro had his stick in precisely the same position with his hat hanging on the end of it; it was one of his favorite whims to walk out bare-headed. They were passing above La Trascava when Líli, leaving the path, with his elastic little legs like springs, began to run on the turf that covered the slope to the chasm. First he ran, but then he slipped on the grass. Sofía gave a cry of terror. Her first impulse, prompted by an almost maternal feeling, was to run after the little beast that was in no real danger; but her husband stopped her, saying: "The devil may have Líli if he wants him—but he will come back. It is impossible to go down, the turf here is so slippery."
"Líli, Líli," cried Sofía, hoping that her touching appeal would arrest the creature on the road to perdition, and bring him back to the path of virtue and duty. But the tenderest adjurations had no effect on the rebellious soul of Líli, who went lower and lower. From time to time he looked up at his mistress with his bright, black eyes, which seemed to say: "For mercy's sake do not be so foolish."
At the large, moss-grown, white rock, which lay like a lid at the very mouth of the chasm, Líli stopped. All stood with their eyes fixed on the spot, and they at once perceived something moving there. They supposed it to be some beast of prey hiding behind the rock; but Sofía gave another shriek of astonishment rather than of terror, and exclaimed:
"It is Nela.—Nela what are you doing there?"
On hearing her name called, the girl appeared greatly disturbed, and colored deeply.
"What are you doing there, mad child?" repeated the lady. "Take up Líli and bring him back to me. Heaven have mercy on us! but what next will that creature be doing? Just look at the place she has put herself in! It is all your fault that Líli went down there—what an example to set the poor little animal. It is all your fault that he behaved in this naughty, wilful way."