While they were in this destitute and most melancholy situation, it came
to pass one afternoon just as he had come in from the printing-office
that the bell rang. Juana announced that a very old _caballero_ wanted
to speak with him. He sent word for him to come in, and instantly there
appeared in his study the old apothecary Hojeda.

"Don Facundo!" he cried, with genuine joy.

"It is I, Miguelito; it is I. I am perfectly furious! Can't you see it
by my face? I must give you a regular scolding. Who would have thought
that you, degenerate scion, should be tramping through this blessed
world of ours, hunting for a situation, and never have remembered an old
friend like me! I know very well that I am a poor old man who is not
good for anything."

"That is not so, Don Facundo; that is not so.... It is because our
professions are so unlike.... Besides, I was afraid that mamma would
find out...."

He could not give an excuse. The truth was that he had forgotten the
saintly old man.

"No use, my dear fellow, no use; you were ungrateful.... You forget
those who love you, and go and ask favors of men who did not even know
your father."

"You are right...."

"Well, then, I have scolded you sufficiently. Let us come to what
interests us more closely at present. I have come to offer you a place
in the bank of Andalucia. For more than a month I have been begging it
for you. At last, this very day, they put it at my disposition. Salary,
sixty duros a month. Will you take it?"

Miguel's only answer was to squeeze his hand violently. After a moment
he exclaimed, with his eyes full of tears:--

"If you only knew, Don Facundo, how opportunely this comes!"

"Haven't you any money?"

"Not a peseta!"

"Haven't you found anything to do?"

"Yes; that of assistant proof-reader in the printing-office just below
here."

"How much salary?"

"Three pesetas a day."

"Jesus! Jesus!" exclaimed the apothecary, raising his hands to his head
and remaining in a thoughtful attitude.

He had the delicacy not to ask him a question about his ruin.
Nevertheless, Miguel of his own accord told him all, even to the
smallest particulars. When Don Facundo had heard the whole story, he
said:--

"See here, Miguel, I am going to ask a favor of you."

"You shall!"

"I want you to accept these six thousand reals[62];" and he laid the
bills on the table. "I am an old bachelor: the money that I have is
amply sufficient."

"Don Facundo, I