And looking at Lucía, and striking his forehead with his clenched hand, Sardiola suddenly cried:
“The more so as—— How stupid I am! Why of course the Señora Doña Armanda will get well when she sees joy entering her doors! What a pleasure to see you married, Señorito, and to so lovely a girl! I wish you every happiness!”
“Dolt!” said Ignacio, gruffly and impatiently, “this lady is not my wife.”
“Well, it is a pity she is not,” answered the Biscayan, while Lucía looked smilingly at him. “You would make a pair that—not if you were to search the wide world through—only that the Señorita——”
“Go on,” said Lucía, intensely amused, busying herself in removing the tissue paper from an orange.
“Shall I, Señorito Ignacio?”
Artegui shrugged his shoulders. Sardiola, taking this for a sign of assent, launched forth:
“The young lady looks as if she were never out of temper, and you—you are always as if you had just received a beating. In that you would not be a very good match for each other.”
Lucía burst into a laugh and looked at Artegui, who smiled indulgently, which encouraged her to laugh still more. The breakfast proceeded in the same cordial manner, animated by Sardiola’s chatter and by the infantile delight of Lucía. On their return to the cars the waiter accompanied them to the very door of the compartment and, had Lucía been owner of the arms of Artegui, she would have thrown them around Sardiola’s neck when the latter repeated, raising his eyes to heaven, and in the tone in which one prays, when one prays in earnest:
“The Virgin of Begoña be with you, Señorito—God grant that you may find Doña Armanda well—command me as if I were a dog, your dog. Remember that I am here at your service.”