Notwithstanding her positive promise, when Rogelio opened his eyes after a peaceful and beneficial sleep, he saw Esclavita standing at his mother’s bedside, giving her a cup of broth. SeÑora de PardiÑas complained greatly of the contusion in the spine, but her headache was much better. Sanchez de Abrojo soon came and justified her complaints by saying that, judging by the symptoms, the contusion threatened to assume an erysipelatous character, for which reason, in order to avoid the pernicious effects of cold on the injured parts, it would be well to remain in bed. “And even if he had given me permission, I could not have got up,” SeÑora de PardiÑas said. “I feel as if I had been tossed in a blanket and been beaten with sand-bags afterward. There is not a bone in my body that does not ache. It is only now that I begin to feel the full effects of the bruise.”

Rogelio took his chocolate, seated at the foot of his mother’s bed, and showed little inclination to stir from there. But DoÑa Aurora soon observed this. “Oh, oh, child,” she cried, “Hurry off to college! You know very well that the professors, especially Ruiz del Monte, won’t excuse absences. The examinations will come afterward, and then you will be wondering why you didn’t pass.”

He must, then, shake off his laziness, go to his room, bathe his face with cold water, wrap himself well in his cloak and proceed to the confounded “chocolate factory,” as he called the University, for the reason that in no place is there more grinding going on. When he left the warm atmosphere of the house, his faculties brightened by his matutinal ablutions, and felt the cold of the early morning in his eyes and on his lips, it seemed to Rogelio as if a veil of fog had suddenly been rent apart and his recollections of the day before took clear and distinct shape in his mind. At this hour his sweetheart, the little girl with the superfluous tooth, would be leaning over the balcony to see, first the mounted artillerymen, and then himself pass by. Rogelio shook with laughter when he recalled this episode. “What a joke!” he said to himself. “What a way I took to find a sweetheart!” Then he remembered what had passed during the night. “I don’t know what came over me,” he thought. “Mamma’s fall dazed me. I said some stupendous things to Esclavita. That, indeed, was like a declaration of love, in earnest; yes, truly. And I felt it all, and if I had not tried hard to control myself, I should have cried. And she, too, was inclined to be sentimental. But looking at it calmly, nothing that we said to each other compromises either of us. They were words that slip from one—well—because at times—if I were required now to give an explanation of why I said them I could not do it. They came without my thinking. Perhaps this is love; as for the other, that was pure make-believe. Well, this at least, if mamma were to find it out, would not vex her so much as what was near happening the other day. In what happened last night I don’t see anything bad.” And as he exchanged a salutation at the door of the University with the sleepy door-keeper, his thoughts took another direction, and he said to himself, “I shall make a nice show of myself if I am questioned on the lesson to-day.”

In the afternoon the house was full of friends who had heard of the accident and who had come to offer their services. There were two or three ladies who were allowed into the bed-room to chat with the patient, whose head was well now and who, consequently, was not disturbed by the noise. The habituÉs of the house came as usual and remained in the dressing-room to accompany the “son of the victim,” as Rogelio laughingly called himself. They discussed the possible consequences of the fall; they devoted a good half hour to a consideration of what would have happened if the patient, instead of setting her heel down in this way had set it down in that. Only Lain Calvo, the representative in that senile assemblage, at once of common sense and of malevolence, pretended deafness more than ever, confining himself to stirring the fire and looking over the pictures and caricatures in the illustrated periodicals. Two or three times he took his ear-trumpet from his pocket and made a pretense of cleaning it and putting it into his ear, but the plainest proof that he heard perfectly was, that under pretense of showing some illustration or other in La Ilustracion Iberica to Rogelio, he leaned toward the student and said to him with a look that would better have become the face of a mischievous urchin than of a grave old man:

“When are those manikins going to stop their senseless chatter, boy? They are even more idiotic to-day than usual. What is the use of talking about what the possible consequence might be of something that might possibly have happened but that didn’t happen? It is like saying, ‘If she had fallen on her head instead of on her side it would have killed her.’”

Then another discussion arose—in relation also to the great event of the fall—as to whether it might not be well for some friend to stay and take care of the patient, as there were certain services which Rogelio, being a man and inexperienced in such matters besides, could not very well render her. But here Don Gaspar Febrero broke out, emphasizing his asseverations by striking the ferule of his crutch against the chimney-guard:

“Why, she has the best nurse she could possibly have! Don’t be afraid but that our friend DoÑa Aurora will be well taken care of by the sympathetic Esclavita. You may be sure she will wait on her like a sister of charity. Don’t pity DoÑa Aurora; pity a poor fellow like me, rather, who will have no Esclavita at his pillow to close his dying eyes, when his last hour comes.”

The company here all protested, with the exception of Lain Calvo, whose attention seemed to be occupied in adjusting his trumpet in his ear.

“You, Don Gaspar, why, you will live to bury us all! Why you are only in the prime of life! You are as vigorous as a boy.”

Don Gaspar shook his head, but with an air of such Olympic serenity, with so animated an expression on his classical features that he seemed rather a demi-god of antiquity affirming his immortality than an old man of our restless age announcing the decline of his vital powers.

“The truth is,” interposed Lain Calvo, “that we are all like moldy parchment, ready to burn to dust at a touch, like the mummies of Peru. Is not that what you were saying, Don Gaspar?”

“He was saying,” screamed Rojas, “that he would like to have Esclavita, DoÑa Aurora’s maid, to nurse him when he is sick.”

“What an idea!” exclaimed the Asturian. “With a girl like that to take care of him, an old man would soon be in his grave, even if he were as strong as an oak, caray. Unless he were like King David.” And turning to Rogelio, he added. “What does the son of the house say to that? Would he be willing to give up the pretty girl to the old fellows? Wouldn’t he protest against it?”

Whether because of the manner in which the question was put to him, or because his conscience was not altogether tranquil, or finally because owing to his youth and inexperience he had not the self-possession demanded by the occasion, Rogelio turned crimson (which was the more noticeable in him, on account of his habitual pallor), and stammered:

“No—to SeÑor Febrero—I—I—” And in his own mind, he said “Hypocrite! You can’t hear, indeed. I verily believe you can hear the grass grow.”

The arrangements for the night were the same as on the previous night, only that, in order not to vitiate the air of the bed-room, Rogelio’s bed was placed in the dressing-room, the door between the two rooms being left open. It was long before the patient fell asleep; she complained of much pain, of a sensation of heat in the injured leg, and an unaccountable feeling of weariness. Rogelio, laying his hand on her forehead, noticed that it was hot, a fact which kept him from sleeping, without preventing him, however, from wondering a little if Esclavita would come to chat a while with him, a thing which he at once feared and desired. Debating this question in his mind, he at last fell asleep, and waking toward morning, he saw the girl approach his bedside. Leaning over him, she said quickly, “I can’t stir from there; she is continually asking for water. She complains of pains all over her body. It is all the effect of the fall.” Rogelio, greatly troubled, answered softly, “Very well, SuriÑa.” But this bad news prevented him from falling asleep again. Was there any danger? Was this the beginning of a fever? The doctor, who came at an early hour, relieved him from his apprehensions. “All this,” he said, “is the after-effect of the fall. The fever is slight. The inflammation we will soon have under control. Give me a piece of paper. You will see an improvement by evening.” In the evening, instead of the promised improvement, there was an increase in the fever, but at nightfall a change for the better took place, and at ten o’clock the patient ate with appetite the wing of a chicken. “Ah, God be praised!” she cried. “The pain in my bones seems better now. I felt such an oppression inside. Child, I think I shall soon be myself again.” This cheerful prognostication was followed by a period of freedom from pain, and toward midnight DoÑa Aurora was enjoying the profound and peaceful slumber of a convalescent.

“To-day she will come flying,” said Rogelio to himself, resolving to keep awake, and notwithstanding his sophistical arguments to prove all that of no importance whatever, he felt his nerves thrill with excitement, and his heart throb tumultuously.