"He has--a new disease--a very strange one, one of the latest fashion." And Agonde smiled maliciously.
Agonde half-closed his eyes, bent toward Tropiezo, and whispered something in his ear.
Tropiezo burst into a laugh; suddenly he looked very serious, and tapping his nose repeatedly with his forefinger:
"I know, I know," he said emphatically. "And the waters here, and some others in France, are the only cure for that disease. If he drinks a few glasses from the spring, he will be himself again."
Tropiezo emitted his dictamen leaning on the counter, forgetful of the mule that was stamping impatiently at the door.
"And the Señora--what does she say of her husband's state of health?" he suddenly asked, with a wink.
"What should she say of it, man? Probably she does not know that it is serious."
A look of derision lighted up the inexpressive features of the physician; he glanced at Agonde and smothering another burst of laughter, began:
"Chut!" interrupted the apothecary furiously. The whole Comba family were making an irruption into the shop through the small door of the porch. Mother and daughter formed a charming group, both wearing wide-brimmed hats of coarse straw adorned with enormous bows of flame-colored bunting. Their écru cotton gowns embroidered with red braid completed the rustic character of their costumes, reminding one of a bunch of poppies and straw. The girl's luxuriant dark hair hung loose over her shoulders, and the fair locks of the mother curled in a tangled mass under the shade of her broad-brimmed hat. Nieves did not wear gloves nor was there visible on her face a trace of powder, or of any other of the cosmetics whose use is imputed unjustly by the women of the provinces to the Madridlenians; on the contrary, her rosy ears and neck showed signs of energetic friction with the towel and cold water. As for Don Victoriano, the ravages made in his countenance by care and sickness were still more apparent in the morning light; it was not, as Agonde had said, age that was visible there; it was virility, but tortured, exhausted, wounded to death.
"Why! Have you had chocolate already?" asked Agonde, in confusion.
"No, friend Saturnino, nor shall we take it, with your permission, until we return. Don't trouble yourself on our account. Victoriniña has ransacked your pantry--your closets----"