Part 28 (2/2)

That Sunday night Dona Casiana's lodgers had an unusually succulent supper, and after the supper several ronquillas for dessert, watered by the purest concoction of the Prussian distilleries.

The spree was still in progress at ten o'clock. Petra said to Manuel:

”Call Don Jacinto and tell him that I'm worse.”

Manuel went to the dining-room. He could barely make out the congested faces through the thick tobacco smoke that filled the atmosphere. As Manuel entered, one of the merrymakers said:

”A little less noise; there's somebody sick.”

Manuel delivered the message to the priest.

”Your mother's scared, that's all. I'll come a little later,” replied Don Jacinto.

Manuel returned to the room.

”Isn't he coming?” asked the sick woman.

”He'll be here right away. He says you're only scared.”

”Yes. A fine scare,” she murmured sadly. ”Stay here.”

Manuel sat down upon a trunk; he was so sleepy, he could hardly see.

He was just dozing off when his mother called to him.

”Listen,” she said. ”Go into the room and fetch the picture of the Virgin of Sorrows.”

Manuel took down the picture,--a cheap cromograph,--and brought it to the bedroom.

”Place it at the foot of the bed so that I can see it.”

The boy did as he was requested and returned to his seat. From the dining-room came a din of songs, hand-clapping and castanets.

Suddenly Manuel, who was half asleep, heard a loud, rasping sound issue from his mother's chest, and at the same time he noticed that her face had become paler than ever and was twitching strangely.

”What's the matter?”

The sufferer made no reply. Then Manuel ran to notify the priest again. Grumblingly he left the dining-room, looked at the sick woman and said to the boy:

”Your mother's dying. Stay here, and I'll be back at once with the extreme unction.”

The priest ordered the merrymakers in the dining-room to cease their racket and the whole house became silent.

Nothing could be heard now save cautious footfalls, the opening and closing of doors, followed by the stertorous breathing of the dying woman and the tick-tock of the corridor clock.

The priest arrived with another who wore a stole and administered all the rites of the extreme unction. After the vicar and the sacristan had gone, Manuel looked at his mother and saw her livid features, her drooping jaw. She was dead.

The youngster was left alone in the room, which was dimly lighted by the oil lamp; there he sat on the trunk, trembling with cold and fear.

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