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After a few moments, he always found that he preferred to rest on the divan and converse with his guest. The first subject, of course, was the absentee. They would repeat fragments of the letters they had received, and would speak of the past with the most discreet allusions. The painter described Julio's life before the war as an existence dedicated completely to art.
Were they all Julio's? . . . Many of the canvases belonged to Argensola, but affected by the old man's emotion, the artist displayed a marvellous generosity. Yes, everything was Julio's handiwork . . . and the father went from canvas to canvas, halting admiringly before the vaguest daubs as though he could almost detect signs of genius in their nebulous confusion.
"Impossible!" he exclaimed. "You will not kill me, Julio? I conjure you, by your soul's salvation, not to imbrue your hands in my blood!" And the unfortunate young man endeavored to drag his feeble body to Julio's feet; but the latter drew his dagger in a threatening manner.
That was so Don Marcelo had forgotten all about it; and the fact recalled to his mental vision the placid life of the ranch, and the play of the blonde children that he had petted behind their grandfather's back, before Julio was born. For many years, he had lavished great affection on these youngsters, when dismayed at Julio's delayed arrival.
The world around her seemed saturated with love, but it was a new love a love for the man who is suffering, desire for abnegation, for sacrifice. This love called forth visions of white caps, of tremulous hands healing shell-riddled and bleeding flesh. Every advance on Julio's part but aroused in Marguerite a vehement and modest protest as though they were meeting for the first time.
He could never know how Julio's death had happened. Nobody could tell him his last words.
Geronimo passed his arm around his neck and raised his head, and seeing Julio's eyes fixed upon him, he said, tenderly and fervently: "Julio, listen to me! You say you dare not hope in the mercy of God' Have you forgotten that Jesus Christ shed his blood to redeem fallen man?
"It succeeds according to my wishes," he said. "The poison is doing its work. He is deaf and insensible; he reposes in an eternal sleep. Life will be extinguished by degrees until sleep makes way for death. But I must not tarry. I must act quickly and forget nothing. And first the money!" He searched Julio's pocket, and found in it one hundred and twenty crowns.
Julio's fate, however, gave him no uneasiness, for his son was not in that part of the front. But yesterday he had received a letter from him, dated the week before; they all took about that length of time to reach him. Sub-lieutenant Desnoyers was as blithe and reckless as ever. They were going to promote him again he was among those proposed for the Legion d'Honneur.
Julio's heart was so far enlisted in favor of Magdalena, that it cost him a severe struggle to throw her off as utterly unworthy of his attachment, but pride came to his rescue, and he performed his task. He wrote a letter, in which, assigning no cause for the procedure, he calmly, coldly, contemptuously renounced her hand, and told her that henceforth, should they meet, it must be as strangers.
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