Jesús, leaning against the wall in a corner, was gazing impassibly at the doctor and his sister out of glittering eyes.
The physician requested the neighbours to fetch a quilt and a few sheets; when these articles had been brought they placed the quilt upon the mat and laid La Fea carefully into the improvised bed. The poor twisted creature looked like a skeleton; her breasts were as flat as a man’s, and though she had no strength to move, when they brought the child to her side she changed position and tried to suckle it.
Gazing upon this scene, Manuel glared angrily at Jesús.
He could have beaten the typesetter with pleasure for having permitted his sister to come to this.
The physician, after having finished his task, took Jesús over to the end of the gallery and engaged in private conversation with him. Jesús was willing to do exactly as he was told; he would give every céntimo of his pay to La Fea, he promised.
Then, when the physician had left, Jesús fell into the hands of the women, who made a rag of him.
He denied nothing. Quite the contrary.
“During her pregnancy,” he confessed, “she slept on the floor, on the mat.”
The chorus of women received the compositor’s words with indignation. He shrugged his shoulders stupidly.