Artegui listened mechanically, like one in a state of catalepsy. At last he found his voice; he looked at Lucía in surprise, as if he now saw her for the first time, and in faint accents said:
“I must go to Paris at once—my mother is dying.” Lucía felt as if she had received a blow on the head from some unseen hand, and stood for a moment speechless, breathless, pulseless. When she had recovered herself sufficiently to exclaim:
“Your mother! Good heavens! What a misfortune!” Artegui had already turned to leave the room, without waiting to listen to the lisped offers of service with which Gonzalvo was overwhelming him.
“Don Ignacio!” cried the young girl, as she saw him lay his hand on the knob.
As if those vibrant tones had reawakened memory in the unhappy son, he retraced his steps, went straight to Lucía, and, without uttering a word took both her hands in his and pressed them in a strong and silent clasp. Thus they remained for a few seconds, neither saying to the other a word of farewell. Lucía tried to speak, but it seemed to her as if a soft silken cord were tightening around her neck and slowly strangling her. Suddenly Artegui released her hands; she drew a deep breath and leaned against the wall, confused, scarcely conscious. When she looked around her she saw that she was alone in the room with Gonzalvo, who was reading, half aloud, the telegram which Artegui had left behind him on the table.
“It was the truth, it was the truth—and the telegram is in Spanish,” he murmured. “‘The Señora dangerously ill. She desires Señorito to come. Engracia.’ Who may Engracia, Engracia, Engracia be? Ah, now I know—Artegui’s nurse, the nurse to a certainty. Well, well! I don’t know whether he will catch the express” (this word Gonzalvo pronounced as if it were written epés). “Half-past two—it is only a little while since the express arrived from Spain—yes, he will still have time to catch it.”
He put back again into his pocket the beautiful skeleton watch, with its double face, and turning his small eyes toward Lucía, he added:
“I am sorry for this for your sake, Señora; now I am your escort. The best thing you can do is to put yourself under my care. My sister is here with me, here with me, and I will get you a room together. It is not fit, it is not fit that a lady should be alone in this way in a hotel.”
Gonzalvo offered her his arm and Lucía was mechanically going to take it when the door opened a second time and the waiter, with a theatrical gesture, announced:
“Monsieur de Miranda.”