CHAPTER XI.

THE PRIEST LIES AND THE COCK CROWS.

When María saw Padre Paoletti enter her room she gave a cry of joy. She looked at him with affection and then turned her eyes on Leon, expressing her gratitude for this concession--which in truth was little short of sublime--by holding out a hand to each. This simple and natural action, without a spoken word, was the epitome of her whole life, and might be regarded as the synthesis of my story so far as she was concerned. They asked her in the same breath how she was feeling, and the same answer did for both.

“I think I must be better--I feel brighter.”

Leon patted her shoulder saying: “Then I will leave you.”

“No, no,” exclaimed Padre Paoletti with eager haste, seating himself at her left hand. “Doña María and I are not going to discuss matters of conscience. The doctor has satisfied us that her condition is not so serious as to require any immediate care for the concerns of her soul, nor is she strong enough for any long dissertation on spiritual things which, though most soothing and precious exhaust the attention. We will all three talk together for a little while; yes, Señor, all three of us--and presently, when her mind is calmer and clearer--all in good time--my precious spiritual daughter can be left alone with me for a few minutes.”

He ended with a smile which was reflected in María’s face as the sea reflects the colour of the sky.

Paoletti, as will have been seen, was smooth-tongued and affable; he could be both sensible and agreeable; his appearance was modest and attractive, for besides a pleasant face he had the added charm of the clearest, sweetest and most pathetic voice that ever was heard. His speech was at once soft and firm, with a mysterious combination of two qualities that would seem to be antagonistic: precision and dreaminess. An after-taste of his native Italian, though partly effaced by the habit of speaking Spanish, gave it a slightly plaintive cadence which contrasted strangely with its vigorous inflections and strongly accented consonants. Well aware of his own skill in using the precious instrument that nature had given him, he took every advantage of it, polishing his language and suiting his words to his ideas and his voice to his words with the greatest nicety. His love of sonorous superlatives made his language tiresome.

While he talked he gave free play to the brilliancy and mobility of his striking eyes; their various changes, I might say phases, of expression seconded the eloquence of his tongue. His glance seemed to prolong the impression of his words: indeed it went further than speech, where speech could not reach. It was to his voice what music is to poetry. Of course there was much art in the wonderful charm of these gifts; still, the chief source of it was a natural grace, and a long habit of searching consciences, of reading faces, of surprising secrets by a piercing glance or by a clenching argument.

“From what our learned friend tells us,” he said, “our beloved patient will soon be quite herself again. It has been a nervous seizure which will pass away, and her state will soon become normal. We are all liable to the treacherous effects of sudden impressions which raise a storm in the nervous system beyond the power of reason to control. The Devil--always on the watch, the flesh--rarely mortified as it should be, rise up and assault us, taking us by surprise. On one hand we have an illusion of the senses which not merely magnify, but distort every object, on the other a fevered imagination which wanders whither it ought not, and sees everything in hues of fire and blood. The judgment succumbs to a hallucination--a mere hallucination, my dear daughter. Then comes the reaction, generally after a severe attack of physical suffering, and we see things in their true light; we see that our motives were inadequate, that we made too much of some gossip--or perhaps calumny, that we have seen visions and dreamed dreams--yes, mere dreams.--Well, we will talk all this over later. For the present try to rest, and bring your mind to a state of exalted contemplation and peace.--You seem very comfortably lodged here. I admire your husband’s taste in retiring to such quiet quarters. I like Carabanchel immensely. Doña María, when you are able to get up again and your husband takes you out--for of course you will take her out--you will see what splendid wheat grows in the fields about here.--It is a paradise for poultry too; you cannot walk a yard without treading on the chickens.--Well, this is sermon enough for to-day, Señora. We began with the soul and ended with poultry. Well well!”

At this moment they heard a cock crow.

“St. Peter’s cock!” said Paoletti in a low voice to Leon. Then, looking quickly round at María he went on:

“I began with thinking of your soul and ended with the cocks and hens in the village. Another time we will begin with the farm-yard and rise to Heavenly things ... God be with you.”

“But are you really going?” said María sincerely distressed.

“I will take a little walk and get something to eat and come back later.”

“On no account,” said Leon. “You will eat something here.”

“Thank you, thank you, Doña María,” said Paoletti, bending over the lady with a very mundane bow and smiling familiarly. “Your husband is most kind. I have never seen him since that melancholy time when our dear Luis quitted this world for a better. It has given me great pleasure to see him to-day.”

María looked at her husband with a mixed expression of kindliness and aversion.

“Do you know, my dear lady,” he went on, “that to-day, by the most extraordinary coincidence, I discovered something?”

“What?” asked María anxiously.

“We will talk of it by-and-bye--I do not want to fatigue you.”

“No, do tell me,” said María in the plaintive tone of a child who begs for something it ought not to have.

“Well, then, I have discovered,” said the Italian, lowering his voice as though he did not wish Leon to hear, “that your husband is not so wicked as he seems; that all you heard--all the thousand stories which I know Doña Pilar told your mother--are a complete mistake, a misapprehension--I am assured--do you hear me?--I am assured that there never has been any such infidelity....”

María’s eyes glittered with excitement and pride. These words, which, coming from him were as Gospel truth, fell on her tortured spirit like balm applied by angel’s hands. She felt as though she were being lifted from a black abyss into the light and fresh air of a lovely day. Afterwards she brought mature reflection to bear on these statements and to test them severely; but for the moment the priest’s words had an immediate effect on her penitential credulity. If Paoletti had told her it was midnight, she would sooner have doubted her own eyes than his statement. Without knowing what to say or how to express her satisfaction she gazed alternately at the priest and at her husband, clasping their hands.

“Yes, indeed,” added Paoletti. “There is no ground whatever for believing him to be unfaithful. My friend here....”

But at this moment again they heard the cock crow, and the priest broke off as though his voice failed him. He recovered himself, however, and to change the subject said:

“So now my sweet friend, you have only to get well as soon as possible. Oh! what a beautiful service you missed yesterday! When you get out again we will show you some prints that came to us yesterday--and we have a fresh supply of water from Lourdes.--But I was forgetting; we have been eating the chocolate you sent us. I must thank our kind benefactress in the name of all the household.”

“It is nothing--a trifle, God knows!”

“Doña Perfecta was quite vexed with us because we could not make use of her contribution. An angelic creature, Doña Perfecta! What a beautiful soul! And that poor Doña Juana. Last night she worried us to death, and even called us despots because we have forbidden the porter’s wife to make coffee for her and the other devout women who rise very early to go to communion and want to breakfast directly after. But really the porter’s lodge was a perfect restaurant on some Sundays.”

The doctor now came into the room.

“There is a great deal of talking here!” said he, “I shall have to come in like a schoolmaster with a cane and command silence.”

“I--not another word! I believe I have talked more than enough,” said the confessor. “I am going to take a turn outside.”

He drew Leon into the recess of the window.

“Well?” he said.

“Admirable,” said Leon, who had fully appreciated the priest’s dexterity--and again they heard the cock crow.

“I have denied my God! I have connived at falsehood!” said Paoletti with a smile that might mean compunction. “If that cock continues to warn me with that crow that seems sent by Heaven, I shall not be able to hold out in this treason to my Master.”

“It is an act of charity,” replied Leon. “A cock cannot be expected to understand that.”

“She, and God, will forgive me I trust. I have never told her a lie or deceived her before--she has never heard me utter a word that was not truth itself, and she believes me implicitly.”

Leon stood silent for a minute after these words, which revived forgotten pangs like a blow on an old wound.

The physician gave a most hopeful report of his patient.

“Do you hear what the doctor says?” asked the priest in an undertone. “A good report, my dear sir--we may feel sure that Doña María will be spared to us.”

This possessive plural, used and repeated without the slightest intention to wound, was the cruelest sarcasm that Leon ever endured in the whole course of his life. He had seen, and rejoiced to see, the miraculous effect of the priest’s words on the hapless María; but this familiarity with his wife, though strictly within the limits of the charmed circle of spiritual affection, disgusted him excessively. It was one of the fateful moments of his life; he stood face to face with the overweening authority, the absolute and omniscient dominion with which he had been fighting in the dark during the long years of his married life. It saddened him and struck shame to his soul. Aye! That moral divorce of which he had often spoken, and which he felt divided them, had never been complete and final till this instant. Till now he had still cherished esteem, respect; but even these slender threads were now worn very thin, if not actually broken, and soon, very soon, they must give way.

Controlling all expression of this feeling he went to his wife’s bedside and said:

“Señor Paoletti and I are going to get something to eat. Rafaela will sit with you till we return.”

“Oh, yes! go and eat some breakfast,” said María joyfully, and with a softer look in her eyes. “But do not be long, I want to see you, and to talk to you.--Do not forget that I must have you with me, that you are not to leave me for an instant. Now that we have the opportunity you will see what a scolding, what a sermon, we can give you--Padre Paoletti and I. I can see you already cowed and humiliated--poor man! Miserable atheist!--But make haste; I want to see you. Look; to-night we will have that sofa placed here, close to the bed, so that you may sleep by my side; then I shall sleep more quietly, and if I should dream any nonsense I can put out my hand and touch you, and then I shall rest in peace.”

“Very well; I will do all you wish,” said her husband, torn in his mind while his heart was full of bitterness.

“And listen,” said María holding his sleeve. “See that some one brings me to-day--at once--my rosary, and my crucifix, and all my books of devotion off the table in my room; all the books, every one, and the water from Lourdes, and my relics, my precious relics.”

“Rafaela shall go to Madrid this afternoon and bring you everything.”

“It is easy to see that this is an atheist’s room,” said the sick woman reverting to the impertinent phraseology which she had only forgotten under the pressure of acute jealousy. “There is not a single religious picture, not an image, nothing to betray that we are Christian souls. However, go to breakfast, go and eat. The good Padre has had no food to-day I daresay--poor man! Give him the best of everything--do you hear? The best. Confess your own inferiority and humble yourself before him. Talk to him of me, and learn to appreciate me better.”

Leon could hardly conceal a bitter smile as he left the room; and once more that cock was heard to crow.