y a protest would arise within him. Though he lived like
an infidel, he still had a religious soul that in the trying moments of
his life led him to call on all the superhuman and miraculous powers as
if they were under an inevitable obligation to come to his aid. "Lord,
take this horrible thought from me. Take away this temptation. Don't let
her die. Let her live, even if I perish."

And the following day, filled with remorse, he would go to some doctors,
friends of his, to consult with them minutely. He would stir up the
house, organizing the cure according to a vast plan, distributing the
medicines by hours. Then he would calmly return to his work, to his
artistic prejudices, to his passionate longing, forgetting his
determinations, thinking his wife's life was already saved.

One afternoon after luncheon, she came into the studio and as the master
looked at her, a sense of anxiety crept over him. It was a long time
since Josephina had entered the room while he was working.

She would not sit down; standing beside the easel she spoke slowly and
meekly to her husband, without looking at him. Renovales was frightened
at this simplicity.

"Mariano, I have come to talk to you about our daughter."

She wanted her to be married: it must come some day and the sooner, the
better. She would die before long and she wanted to leave the world with
the assurance that her daughter was well settled.

Renovales felt forced to protest loudly with all the vehemence of a man
who is not very sure of what he is saying. Shucks! Die! Why should she
die? Her health was better now than it had ever been. The only thing she
needed was to heed what the doctors told her.

"I shall die before long," she repeated coldly; "I shall die and you
will be left in peace. You know it."

The painter tried to protest with a greater show of righteous
indignation but his eyes met his wife's cold look. Then he contented
himself with shrugging his shoulders in a resigned way. He did not want
to argue; he must keep calm. He had to paint; he must go out that
afternoon as usual on important business.

"Very well, go ahead. Milita is going to be married. And to whom?"

Led by his desire to maintain his authority, to take the lead, and
because of his long-standing affection for his pupil, he hastened to
speak of him. Was Soldevilla the suitor? A good boy with a future ahead
of him. He worshiped Milita; his dejection when she treated him ill was
pitiful. H