the medical employe, with self-sufficiency. "At all events pray God,
Rivera, that it may not be nervous fever."

Miguel, on hearing these words, felt chilled through. A strange
trembling passed over his frame. He made an effort to control himself,
and said in a voice that was already changed:--

"The doctor told me to take her temperature often."

"And how does her temperature stand?"

Although he did not know what exact connection the degrees had with the
fever, yet, terrified by the words that had passed, he did not dare to
say that she had forty-one and a few decimals, and replied:--

"Forty centigrade."

"That cannot be; that would be a very high fever.... Come, friend
Rivera, it must be confessed that you know more about philosophy than
about taking temperatures."

"Yes, Rivera; you must be mistaken," said another.

He stood rooted to the floor; he grew terribly pale, and was on the
point of fainting away.

His companions, noticing his pallor, began to encourage him.

"Man! don't be frightened.... You must have made some mistake. Besides,
even if you hadn't, it would not be necessarily fatal."

A companion, to give him still more encouragement, whispered: "Don't
mind that pestilent fellow! What does he know about fevers? He never in
his life opened a book!"

Nevertheless, he felt a stab in his very heart. He left the Consejos
with his face changed, and took a carriage, for he feared that he might
faint. He rushed into his wife's room.

"How do you feel?"

"Well," she replied, with a sweet smile.

"Let me take your temperature," said he, hastening to put the
thermometer under her arm. His heart beat furiously. Not being able to
stay still while the thermometer remained there, he began to walk up and
down through the room. At last with trembling hand he took it out, and
ran to the shutter, which was closed; he opened it a little way and
looked. The temperature had risen a few decimals: it was almost
forty-two degrees.

He could not speak a word.

"What makes you so excited about that blessed little tube?" said
Maximina. "What is the good of it?"

"I don't know; the doctor sent it to me.... I am going to set down the
temperature."

Instead of going to his study, however, he went to his chamber, threw
himself face down upon his bed, sobbing.

"They have killed me! They have killed me!" he murmured, while his tears
bathed the pillows.

For nearly half an hour he thus lay without ceasing to re