“Thank you,” said Artegui, assuming once more his habitual look of gloomy reserve.
The train started and Sardiola remained standing on the platform waving an adieu with his napkin, without changing his attitude, until the smoke of the engine had vanished on the horizon. Lucía looked at Artegui and questions crowded to her lips.
“That poor man is greatly attached to you,” she said at last.
“I was so unfortunate as to render him a service at one time,” answered Ignacio, “and since then——”
“Hear that! and you call that a misfortune. Well, then, you have been very unfortunate ever since this morning, for you have rendered me a hundred services already.”
Artegui smiled again as he looked at the young girl.
“The misfortune does not consist,” he said, “in rendering a service, but in the recipient showing so much gratitude.”
“Well, then, I too suffer from the same disease as Sardiola, and I am not ashamed of it,” declared Lucía; “you shall see by and by.”
“Bah! all that is wanting is that I should have people grateful to me without cause,” responded Artegui, in the same festive tone. “It is not so bad when there is some motive for gratitude, as in the case of that poor Sardiola.”
“What did you do for him?” asked Lucía, unable to keep her inquisitive lips closed.