"Don't cry,ñaltaMartayMarí child,"[69] said the old physician, drawing her head to his breast; "as yet there is no reason for alarm.... I will certainly do all in my power, and more, to save her."
"Yes, yes, Don Maximo.... Do it, I beseech you by all that you most love in this world!... by the memory of your wife, whom you loved so dearly!"
"Don't! try not to cry any more! the thing to do now is to go and give her a spoonful of quinine; then we will put a cataplasm on her stomach."
The good Don Maximo, disguising the presentiment which he felt, succeeded in calming the girl, and he set himself to applying the remedies which his poor science but rich desire suggested.
But he was not able to halt the swift approach of death which in full career was fast approaching the noble lady's couch. At four o'clock in the morning they noticed that she spoke with greater difficulty; her pronunciation halted, and she often stammered. Almost all her words were directed to Maria, asking her numberless times about the events of the preceding night, and insisting on being told, showering boundless praise on her for her bravery, and congratulating herself on having such a good daughter.
"My daughter, beseech God for my safety.... God cannot ... deny thee anything."
"Maria, perceiving that her mother was dying, replied:
"Mamma, the one important thing is the safety of the soul.... If God wishes to restore you, let it be a miracle to you of his sacred grace...."
"God only can tell.... Do you wish the señor cura to come in and give you a short confession?"
"Yes ... let him come in ... my daughter, let him come in!"
The priest came, and remained a few moments alone with the sick woman. Those who were in the adjoining room kept a sad silence. Don Mariano lying on a sofa, with his cheek resting in one hand, shut his eyes and gave evidence of deep dejection. After the priest had finished, Marta, Maria, Ricardo, and Don Maximo returned. Doña Gertrudis's condition grew continually more critical. There began to be noticeable in her a restlessness of bad augury; she turned her head from one side to the other as though she could not find a resting-place, as though she were already searching for the pillow on which she was to repose eternally. Her vacillating hands picked up and dropped the bedclothes incessantly, while her eyes also restlessly rolled in their orbits, fastening, from time to time, on the ceiling of the room; it seemed as though she found no one on whom to rest them. Soon Martita noticed that her hands were cold, and she mentioned the fact aloud, in a simple manner, without appreciating its unfortunate significance. Don Maximo turned away his head to hide his emotion; the priest let his fall on his breast.