She opened her dazed eyes and answered in a voice low, also, but clear:
“I am here, Don Ignacio. Where are you?”
“Here, here—do you not see me?—here at your side.”
“Yes, yes; I see you now. Is it really you?”
“Tell me, I entreat you, Lucía, what this—this miracle means. How did you come here?”
“Tell you—tell you—I cannot, Don Ignacio—my head feels confused. As you were here, I wished to see you and I said to myself, I must see him. No, it was not I that said so; it was a chorus of little birds that sang it within me, and so I came. That is all.”
“Rest,” said Artegui, in gentlest accents, as if he were speaking to a child. “Lean your head on the cushion. Would you like a cup of tea—or anything else? Do you feel better now?”
“No, let me rest, let me rest.” Lucía closed her eyes, leaned back on the divan, and remained silent. Artegui gazed at her anxiously with dilated eyes, still trembling with excitement. He placed a footstool under her feet, over which he drew the folds of her gown. Lucía remained passive, murmuring disconnected words in a low voice, still slightly wandering, but speaking now less incoherently and with clearer enunciation.
“I don’t know how I came here—I was afraid, so much afraid of meeting some one—of meeting—Engracia—but I said to myself, on, on! Sardiola says he is going away to-day, and if he goes away—you too are going to Leon—and then, for all time to come, Lucía, unless it be in heaven, I don’t know where you will see him again! When thoughts like these come to one’s mind, one is afraid of nothing. I trembled, I trembled like a leaf—it may be that I broke something in the little room—I should be sorry for it if I did—and I should be sorry, too, if Father Urtazu and Father Arrigoitia should blame me, as they will, oh, indeed they will—I shall tell them I only wanted to see him for an instant—as the light fell upon his face I could see him clearly; he looks so pale, always so pale! Pilar too, is pale, and I—and everybody—and the world, yes, the world that was rose-colored and azure before—but now—— Well, as I wanted to see him, I entered. The dining-room is large. Engracia was washing the dishes. How I ran! It was a chance to have found his room. It is a pretty room. His mother’s likeness is there—poor lady! Duhamel is a great doctor, but there are diseases for which there is no cure, as I well know, but the grave. That is a cure for everything. How pleasant it must be there—and here too. It is pleasant; one feels like sleeping, because——”
“Sleep, Lucía, my life, my soul,” murmured a passionate and vibrant voice. “Sleep, while I guard your slumbers, and fear nothing. Sleep; never in your cradle, watched over by your mother, did you sleep more secure. Let them come, let them come to seek you here!”