upside down, finding
fault with the servant, with her husband, with herself, until suddenly
she would collapse from the height of her excitement and begin to cry.

These domestic trials broke the painter's spirit, but he bore them
patiently. Now a gentle sympathy was added to his former love, when he
saw her so weak, without any remnant of her former charm except her
eyes, sunk in their bluish sockets, bright with the mysterious fire of
fever. Poor little girl! Her struggles brought her to such a pass. Her
weakness filled Renovales with a sort of remorse. Her lot was that of
the soldier who sacrifices himself for his general's glory. He had
conquered, but he left behind him the woman he loved, fallen in the
struggle because she was the weaker.

He admired, too, her maternal self-sacrifice. The baby, Milita, who
attracted attention because of her whiteness and ruddiness, had the
strength that her mother lacked. The greediness of this strong,
enslaving creature had absorbed all of the mother's life.

When the artist was rich and installed his family in the new house, he
thought that Josephina was going to get well. The doctors were confident
of a rapid improvement. The first day that they walked through the
parlors and studios of the new house, taking note of the furniture and
the valuables, old and new, with a glance of satisfaction, Renovales put
him arm around the waist of the weak little doll, bending his head over
her, caressing her forehead with his bearded lips.

Everything was hers, the house and its sumptuous decorations, hers too
was the money that was left and that he would continue to make. She was
the owner, the absolute mistress, she could spend all she wanted to, he
would stand for everything. She could wear stylish clothes, have
carriages, make her former friends green with envy, be proud of being
the wife of a famous painter, much more proud than others who had landed
a ducal crown by marriage. Was she satisfied?

She said "Yes," nodding her assent weakly, and she even stood on tiptoe
to kiss the lips that seemed to caress her through a cloud of hair, but
her expression was sad and her listless movements were like a withered
flower's, as if there was no joy on earth that could lift her out of
this dejection.

After a few days, when the first impress of the change in her mode of
life was over, the old outbreaks that had so often disturbed their
former dwelling began again in the luxurious palace.