“God pardon her! I predicted that she would end badly. Do you remember that the more pains I took to make her go the right way, the more obstinate she was in going the wrong?”
Old Maria, calculating that this catastrophe prevented the arrival of Don Frederico, decided to confide the cure of Pedro to a young physician who had taken the place of Stein at Villamar.
“I do not know much of his science,” she said to Don Modesto, who recommended this Esculapius to her; “he knows only how to order medicinal drinks, and there is nothing which more weakens the stomach. For nourishment he prescribes chicken broth. Will you tell me what strength such a beverage can give? All is topsy-turvy, my commandant. But all this will come right in the future, and experience will always be experience.”
The doctor found Pedro very ill; he declared he was anxious to prepare for his death.
Maria could not hear this news without weeping bitterly; she called Manuel, and charged him with the painful mission to announce his approaching death to Pedro, with every possible precaution.
“Believe me,” she said, “I would never have the courage to do it.”
Manuel set off to visit the patient.
“Hallo! Pedro,” he said to him, “how are you?”
“I am sinking, Manuel,” replied the invalid: “if you have any commands for the other world, tell me immediately: I am about to weigh anchor, my son.”
“Come! Pedro, this is not so. You will live longer than I; and, as the proverb says—”