And as Lucía remained silent, questioning only with the mute and ardent language of the eyes, the Biscayan continued:
“Because--did the Señorita not know? Well it was the Señorito himself who got me this place. As the Alavese took Juanilla, who is a cousin of mine, with her and it made me, well--sad, to see those hills which no one but us country lads and the wild beasts had, with God’s help, ever climbed before, overrun by government troops, and, in short, as I was dying of sadness in that station, I wrote to the Señorito--his mother, may her soul rest in glory, was still living--and he recommended me to the Alavesa, and here I am at your service, living in clover.”
Lucía’s eyes continued their mute questioning, more eager than ever. Sardiola continued:
“But what most pleased me was to live so near the Señorito----”
“So near?” mutely asked the shining eyes.
“So near,” he said in response, “so very near that--why it is delightful!--you have only to cross the garden there to reach his house.”
Lucía ran to the balcony, and, as pale as wax, looked with wild eyes at the building opposite. Sardiola followed her to the window and even the sick girl turned her head around with curiosity.
“Look there,” explained Sardiola. “Do you see that wall there and that other wall which joins it at a right angle? Well, those are the walls of the hotel. Now look at that other wall, which forms the third side of the square--that is the wall of Don Ignacio’s house; it opens on the Rue de Rivoli. Do you see those steps leading into the garden? You ascend by those into the corridor on the first floor, into which the dining-room opens--a very handsome room! The whole house is handsome. Don Ignacio’s father accumulated a great deal of money. Do you see that little tree there at the foot of the steps, that sickly-looking plane tree? That is where the Señorito used to take his mother to sit to breathe the air; she died of a disease the name of which I don’t remember, but which means--well, that the heart becomes greatly enlarged--and as she had dreadful fits of oppression at times so that she could scarcely breathe, just like a fish when it is taken out of the water; she had to be brought down into the garden, and even then there was not air enough for her, and she would sit for an hour trying to get her breath. If you had seen the Señorito! That was what might be called devotion! He supported her head, he warmed her feet with his hands, he kissed her a thousand times in an hour, he fanned her--well, it was a sight worth seeing! A purer soul God never sent into the world nor shall we see another like her in our time. After death the blessed saint looked so smiling and so natural and so handsome, with her fair hair! He it was that looked like a dead person; if he had been lying in the coffin any one would have taken him for the corpse.”