In his movements he was quick and gliding as an eel. Having at one time gone to Brazil on a scientific expedition, he possessed a smattering of Brazilian Portuguese, which he persisted in trying to pass off for Spanish.
“Let the whole treatment, ó tratamento, be stopped,” he said, addressing himself exclusively to Lucía, although the sick girl’s brother was present, guided doubtless by that infallible instinct possessed by the physician and which enables him to distinguish at once the person most interested in his instructions and most capable of carrying them out: “The patient, a doente, has done wrong in disobeying my orders in this way.”
“But now, what is to be done?”
“We will try a strong counter-irritant; there is congestion of the lungs; we must try to dissipate it. Bon Dieu! to dance and take iced drinks! And now we have the sweats to fight against.”
This dialogue between the doctor and Lucía took place at a sufficient distance from the sick girl’s bed to prevent her from hearing it. Lucía informed herself minutely regarding all that concerned the nursing of the patient, the hours at which nourishment was to be given to her, and the precautions which it was necessary to observe. After she had applied to Pilar the remedies prescribed by the doctor, she set the room in order, moving about on tiptoe, half closed the shutters, and then installed herself at the bedside in a low sewing-chair. Pilar was very feverish and suffered greatly from thirst. At every moment Lucía would put to her lips the glass of gum-water, previously warmed on the little stove. In the afternoon Duhamel came again and found that the counter-irritant had had the effect of restoring to some extent the sick girl’s voice, and rendering her breathing easier. The fever, however, was high, the perspiration having been checked. The pulmonary congestion lasted for eight days, and when, in obedience to Duhamel’s orders—as lying in bed increased the fever and debilitated her—Pilar rose, the girl looked like a specter; to the symptoms, bad enough in themselves, of anæmia were now added others more alarming still. Her limbs no longer supported the weight of her clothing, which slipped down from them as if they had been the limbs of a badly stuffed doll. She herself was alarmed, and in one of those moments of clairvoyance which are apt to visit persons suffering from the dreadful disease which now held her in its clutches, she asked for the famous mirror, which Lucía, in order not to vex her, gave her very unwillingly. When Pilar saw herself in the glass she recalled her image as she had seen it on the night of the ball, the carnations in her artistically arranged hair, her face beaming with happiness. The contrast between her face as she now saw it and as she had seen it a week ago, was so strong that Pilar threw the mirror with a quick movement on the ground. The glass was broken and the exquisitely chased frame dinted by the blow.
It was not long, however, before the flattering illusion which mercifully blinds the consumptive to his danger and smooths his path to the very portals of the tomb, again took possession of her. The symptoms of the disease were so marked that seeing them in another she would have regarded them as fatal; and yet Pilar, animated as ever, continued to lay out plans for the future and thought she was suffering only from an obstinate cold, which would eventually cure itself. She had a constant hacking cough, with viscous expectoration; the slightest increase of temperature excited profuse perspiration, and instead of her former capricious appetite she had now an intense loathing for food. In vain the wife of the concierge put in practice all her culinary arts, inventing a hundred dainty dishes. Pilar regarded them all alike with repugnance, especially such as were of a nutritious kind. There began now for both the friends a valetudinarian existence. Lucía scarcely ever left Pilar, taking her out on the balcony to breathe the fresh air if the weather was fine, keeping her company in her room if it was bad, using all her efforts to amuse her and to make the hours seem less tedious. The sick girl now began to feel the impatience, the desire for change of scene, which generally seizes those affected by the disease from which she suffered. Vichy had become intolerable to her; the more so, as she saw that the season was now drawing to a close, that the Casino was fast becoming deserted, that the opera-troupe were about to depart, and the brilliant swallows of fashion to take flight for other regions. The Amézegas had come to bid her good-by, and to give her the last vexation of the season. If Lucía had followed her own inclinations, she would have received them in the little parlor down-stairs, making some excuse for Pilar; but the latter persisted in her desire that they should come up to her room, and Lucía was compelled to yield. The Cubans were triumphantly happy because they were going to Paris to make their purchases for the winter, and from thence to display their finery at the most fashionable entertainments in Madrid and in the Retiro, and they spoke with the lisp and with the affected airs habitual to them on such occasions.
“Yes, child, who could endure it here any longer—this place has grown so stupid—not a soul to be seen. Yes, Krauss has gone. She has a contract in Paris. She scored a triumph on the last night of ‘Mignon.’ Some of the hotels are closed already. As you may suppose the rope has followed the pail; when the Swede left, was it likely he was going to remain? He will follow her to Stockholm. Yes, indeed! but have you not heard? On the day of her departure he filled her carriage with flowers. A whole parlor carriage filled with gardenias and camellias; just think of it! He has spent a small fortune already in flowers. Luisa Natal?—why, where should she go but to Madrid? Ah! the countess will stop at Lourdes on her way—she intends to remain at least a week there. Yes, Cañahejas is going on a visit to a castle belonging to some relations of Monsieur Anatole, where they will shoot until November. Gimenez? I don’t know, child; he is always engaged in some mysterious affair or other. They say that Laurent, the soprano of the company—that cross-eyed woman—I don’t believe a word of it—he is an incorrigible braggart——”
“And you, you remain here, eh?” added Amalia, joining her lisp to Lola’s. “How long, child? But you will die of ennui, here. This is a convent, now! Why, that is nothing—what signifies a cold? Cheer up. This winter the Puenteanchas will give some private theatricals—the Monteros told me so. The Torreplanas de Arganzon have already signified their intention of receiving on Thursdays. We shall have Patti in the Real, and Gayarré,—think of it! We have sent to secure a box in case we should not arrive in time.”
“I am going to order a couple of frocks from Worth—simple ones, as I am not married. One for skating—I dote upon skating! In the Casa de Campo last year—do you remember, Amalia?—that day——”
“That the king complimented you on your skating? Yes, I remember it, of course.”