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Updated: May 17, 2025
He wrapped himself in an overcoat and got into bed, dressed, putting out the light so as not to see reality, to dream, peopling the darkness with the sweet deceits of his fancy. On those mattresses, Josephina had slept. He did not see her as in the last days, sick, emaciated, worn with physical suffering. His mind repelled that painful image, bent on beautiful illusions.
And Renovales, without noticing his mother's words, saw only that his daughter was like him, overjoyed to see how robust she was, shouting his pleasure at the health of which the grandmother spoke in a disappointed tone. In vain did he and Doña Emilia try to dissuade Josephina from nursing the baby.
One day, he did not limit himself to this brief leave-taking. After he had gone a few steps, he came back toward his companion and said hesitatingly: "Listen, if Josephina asks you where I went, don't say anything. I know that you are prudent but she is always worried. I tell you this so as to avoid any trouble. The two women don't get along together very well. Some woman's quarrel!"
They had been talking about their dear Josephina, while she was waiting for her carriage to come. And as she said this, she kept kissing the little woman, drawing back a little to look at her better, repeating impetuously: "My, how pretty you are to-day. You look better than you did three days ago." Josephina continued to smile. She thanked her. Her carriage was waiting at the door.
The invisible monster was beside him, dying, kicking violently, sticking him with its angular body. The howl tore the darkness like a death rattle. Renovales, aroused by his fear, awoke completely. That cry came from Josephina. His wife was tossing about in the bed, shrieking while she gasped for breath.
Renovales and his wife occupied the apartment nearest the Grand Canal. Mornings, Josephina saw from a bay window the rapid silent approach of her husband's gondola.
It was a simple tomb, a sort of coffin of white marble which rose a few inches above the ground, with an elevation at one end, like the bolster of a bed and surmounted by a cross. Renovales was cold. There was Josephina! He read the inscription several times, as if he could not convince himself.
"You look all rumpled up in your conscience, beloved sis," the boy went on, chaffingly. "My conscience is all right," said Sara severely. "It's worse than that. If you please, here's a letter from Aunt Josephina! She writes that she is very lonesome. Her son has gone to South America, and won't be back until spring, and she wants to come and spend the winter with us."
Suddenly he found himself walking up and down the studio, repeating aloud, "She is dying! She is dying!" He said it to himself in order that he might make himself feel sorry, and break out into sobs of grief, but he remained mute. Josephina was going to die and he was calm. He wanted to weep; it seemed to him a duty.
"Yes, she was very beautiful," he said slowly, without turning his eyes from the canvases. "Now I recognize it; now I see her better. It's strange, Pepe. It seems as if I have found Josephina to-day after a long journey. I had forgotten her; I was no longer certain what her face was like." There was another long pause, and once more the master began to ply his friend with anxious questions.
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