And the voices of both sisters mingled in a concert of little laughs of gratified pride; both saw again in imagination the frozen lake, the trees covered with their embroidery of frost, the early morning mist, and the youthful figure of the king, his countenance pale with cold, with his effeminate frame, his easy and elegant manners, and his half-mischievous, half-courteous smile as he bent forward to compliment the skater on her skill.
The visit left Pilar more impatient, more feverish, more excited than ever. Pilar was desperate; at any cost she desired to leave Vichy, to fly away, to break from the dark prison of sickness and make her appearance once more, a brilliant butterfly, in the world of fashion. She fully believed herself able to do so; she did not doubt but that her strength was equal to it. No less impatient than herself were two other persons—Miranda and Perico. Perico, accustomed to live in perpetual divorce from himself, could not endure solitude, which compelled him to keep his own company; and as for Miranda, the period prescribed for his drinking the waters being now at an end and his health notably improved, he thought it was time to betake himself to winter quarters and enjoy in peace the result of the treatment. It annoyed him extremely to see that his wife, appointed by high decrees to nurse himself, should neglect, as she did, her providential mission, dedicating her days and nights to a stranger suffering from a malady painful to witness and perhaps contagious. Therefore, he suggested to Lucía that they should take their departure, leaving the Gonzalvos to their fate, as those are left behind, in a shipwreck, for whom there is no room in the lifeboat. But contrary to all his expectations, he met with a vehement and obstinate resistance from Lucía. She indemnified herself now, by giving free utterance to her feelings, for all she had hitherto concealed, even from herself.
“It would be necessary to have no heart—to have no heart!” she said. “Poor Pilar, she would be well off indeed with her brother, who does not know even how to arrange her pillows, for a nurse. What would become of her? I cannot bear even to think of it.”
“She could send for a sister of charity—she would not be the first who has done so,” answered Miranda roughly.
“How cruel—poor girl! To talk like that is even worse than leaving her to die alone like a dog.”
“Well, as for her, confound me if she would have stayed behind for you or for me, or for the angel Gabriel himself. And what obligation are we under to nurse her? One would think——”
“Do you not say that you are Gonzalvo’s friend?” said Lucía, riveting her gaze on her husband.
“His friend, yes, in a social way. What do you know about those things? We are friends as hundreds of other people are friends.”
“Then why do we live in the same house with the Gonzalvos. They were not my friends; but now I have come to like her, and the idea of going away and leaving her so ill——”
“Good Heavens! has she not her father, her aunt, her brother? Let them come, in the devil’s name, to take care of her. What have we to do with the matter? If your vocation was to be a sister of charity, you should have said so before, and not have got married, my child. Your duty now is to see to your husband and your house, and nothing more.”