her in his lucid moments. She need not fear him; he would
never bite her. And as if he must sink his teeth into something or other
to glut his rage, he bit into his arms until the blood came.

"My son! My son!" moaned the mother and she wiped the deadly froth from
his lips, afterwards carrying the handkerchief to her eyes, without fear
of contagion. _Caldera_, in his solemn gravity, paid no heed to the
sufferer's threatening eyes, which were fixed upon him with an impulse
of attack. The boy had lost his awe of his father.

That powerful man, however, facing the peril of his son's mouth, thrust
him back into bed whenever the madman tried to flee, as if he must
spread everywhere the horrible affliction that was devouring his
entrails.

No longer were the crises followed by extended intervals of calm. They
became almost continuous, and the victim writhed about, clawed and
bleeding from his own bites, his face almost black, his eyes tremulous
and yellow, looking like some monstrous beast set apart from all the
human species. The old doctor had stopped asking about the youth. What
was the use? It was all over. The women wept hopelessly. Death was
certain. They only bewailed the long hours, perhaps days, of horrible
torture that poor Pascualet would have to undergo.

_Caldera_ was unable to find among his relatives or friends any men
brave enough to help him restrain the sufferer in his violent moments.
They all looked with terror at the door to the _estudi_, as if behind it
were concealed the greatest of dangers. To go shooting through roads and
canals was man's work. A stab could be returned; one bullet could answer
another; but ah! that frothing mouth which killed with a bite!... that
incurable disease which made men writhe in endless agony, like a lizard
sliced by a hoe!

He no longer knew his mother. In his final moments of lucidity he had
thrust her away with loving brusqueness. She must go!... Let him not see
her again!... He feared to do her harm! The poor woman's friends dragged
her out of the room, forcing her to remain motionless, like her son, in
a corner of the kitchen. _Caldera_, with a supreme effort of his dying
will, tied the agonizing youth to the bed. His beetling brows trembled
and the tears made him blink as he tied the coarse knots of the rope,
fastening the youth to the bed upon which he had been born. He felt as
if he were preparing his son for burial and had begun to dig his grave.
The victim twi