She placed a de before her husband's surname, since the de cost nothing and gave "quality" to the name, signing herself "Victorina de los Reyes de De Espadaña." This de was such a mania with her that neither the stationer nor her husband could get it out of her head. "If I write only one de it may be thought that you don't have it, you fool!" she said to her husband.[119]

Soon she believed that she was about to become a mother, so she announced to all her acquaintances, "Next month De Espadaña and I are going to the Penyinsula. I don't want our son to be born here and be called a revolutionist." She talked incessantly of the journey, having memorized the names of the different ports of call, so that it was a treat to hear her talk: "I'm going to see the isthmus in the Suez Canal--De Espadaña thinks it very beautiful and De Espadaña has traveled over the whole world." "I'll probably not return to this land of savages." "I wasn't born to live here--Aden or Port Said would suit me better--I've thought so ever since I was a girl." In her geography Doña Victorina divided the world into the Philippines and Spain; rather differently from the clever people who divide it into Spain and America or China for another name.

Her husband realized that these things were barbarisms, but held his peace to escape a scolding or reminders of his stuttering. To increase the illusion of approaching maternity she became whimsical, dressed herself in colors with a profusion of flowers and ribbons, and appeared on the Escolta in a wrapper. But oh, the disenchantment! Three months went by and the dream faded, and now, having no reason for fearing that her son would be a revolutionist, she gave up the trip. She consulted doctors, midwives, old women, but all in vain. Having to the great displeasure of Capitan Tiago jested about St. Pascual Bailon, she was unwilling to appeal to any saint. For this reason a friend of her husband's remarked to her:

"Believe me, señora, you are the only strong-spirited person in this tiresome country."

She had smiled, without knowing what strong-spirited meant, but that night she asked her husband. "My dear," he answered, "the s-strongest s-spirit that I know of is ammonia. My f-friend must have s-spoken f-figuratively."

After that she would say on every possible occasion, "I'm the only ammonia in this tiresome country, speaking figuratively. So Señor N. de N., a Peninsular gentleman of quality, told me."

Whatever she said had to be done, for she had succeeded in dominating her husband completely. He on his part did not put up any great resistance and so was converted into a kind of lap-dog of hers. If she was displeased with him she would not let him go out, and when she was really angry she tore out his false teeth, thus leaving him a horrible sight for several days.

It soon occurred to her that her husband ought to be a doctor of medicine and surgery, and she so informed him.

"My dear, do you w-want me to be arrested?" he asked fearfully.

"Don't be a fool! Leave me to arrange it," she answered. "You're not going to treat any one, but I want people to call you Doctor and me Doctora, see?"

So on the following day Rodoreda[120] received an order to engrave on a slab of black marble: DR. DE ESPADAÑA, SPECIALIST IN ALL KINDS OF DISEASES. All the servants had to address them by their new titles, and as a result she increased the number of frizzes, the layers of rice-powder, the ribbons and laces, and gazed with more disdain than ever on her poor and unfortunate countrywomen whose husbands belonged to a lower grade of society than hers did. Day by day she felt more dignified and exalted and, by continuing in this way, at the end of a year she would have believed herself to be of divine origin.

These sublime thoughts, however, did not keep her from becoming older and more ridiculous every day. Every time Capitan Tiago saw her and recalled having made love to her in vain he forthwith sent a peso to the church for a mass of thanksgiving. Still, he greatly respected her husband on account of his title of specialist in all kinds of diseases and listened attentively to the few phrases that he was able to stutter out. For this reason and because this doctor was more exclusive than others, Capitan Tiago had selected him to treat his daughter.

In regard to young Linares, that is another matter. When arranging for the trip to Spain, Doña Victorina had thought of having a Peninsular administrator, as she did not trust the Filipinos. Her husband bethought himself of a nephew of his in Madrid who was studying law and who was considered the brightest of the family. So they wrote to him, paying his passage in advance, and when the dream disappeared he was already on his way.

Such were the three persons who had just arrived. While they were partaking of a late breakfast, Padre Salvi came in. The Espadañas were already acquainted with him, and they introduced the blushing young Linares with all his titles.

As was natural, they talked of Maria Clara, who was resting and sleeping. They talked of their journey, and Doña Victorina exhibited all her verbosity in criticising the customs of the provincials, --their nipa houses, their bamboo bridges; without forgetting to mention to the curate her intimacy with this and that high official and other persons of "quality" who were very fond of her.

"If you had come two days ago, Doña Victorina," put in Capitan Tiago during a slight pause, "you would have met his Excellency, the Captain-General. He sat right there."

"What! How's that? His Excellency here! In your house? No!"

"I tell you that he sat right there. If you had only come two days ago--"

"Ah, what a pity that Clarita did not get sick sooner!" she exclaimed with real feeling. Then turning to Linares, "Do you hear, cousin? His Excellency was here! Don't you see now that De Espadaña was right when he told you that you weren't going to the house of a miserable Indian? Because, you know, Don Santiago, in Madrid our cousin was the friend of ministers and dukes and dined in the house of Count El Campanario."

"The Duke of La Torte, Victorina," corrected her husband.[121]

"It's the same thing. If you will tell me--"

"Shall I find Padre Damaso in his town?" interrupted Linares, addressing Padre Salvi. "I've been told that it's near here."

"He's right here and will be over in a little while," replied the curate.

"How glad I am of that! I have a letter to him," exclaimed the youth, "and if it were not for the happy chance that brings me here, I would have come expressly to visit him."

In the meantime the happy chance had awakened.

"De Espadaña," said Doña Victorina, when the meal was over, "shall we go in to see Clarita?" Then to Capitan Tiago, "Only for you, Don Santiago, only for you! My husband only attends persons of quality, and yet, and yet--! He's not like those here. In Madrid he only visited persons of quality."

They adjourned to the sick girl's chamber. The windows were closed from fear of a draught, so the room was almost dark, being only dimly illuminated by two tapers which burned before an image of the Virgin of Antipolo. Her head covered with a handkerchief saturated in cologne, her body wrapped carefully in white sheets which swathed her youthful form with many folds, under curtains of jusi and piña, the girl lay on her kamagon bed. Her hair formed a frame around her oval countenance and accentuated her transparent paleness, which was enlivened only by her large, sad eyes. At her side were her two friends and Andeng with a bouquet of tuberoses.

De Espadaña felt her pulse, examined her tongue, asked a few questions, and said, as he wagged his head from side to side, "S-she's s-sick, but s-she c-can be c-cured." Doña Victorina looked proudly at the bystanders.

"Lichen with milk in the morning, syrup of marshmallow, two cynoglossum pills!" ordered De Espadaña.

"Cheer up, Clarita!" said Doña Victorina, going up to her. "We've come to cure you. I want to introduce our cousin."

Linares was so absorbed in the contemplation of those eloquent eyes, which seemed to be searching for some one, that he did not hear Doña Victorina name him.

"Señor Linares," said the curate, calling him out of his abstraction, "here comes Padre Damaso."

It was indeed Padre Damaso, but pale and rather sad. On leaving his bed his first visit was for Maria Clara. Nor was it the Padre Damaso of former times, hearty and self-confident; now he moved silently and with some hesitation.

CHAPTER XLIII

Plans

Without heeding any of the bystanders, Padre Damaso went directly to the bed of the sick girl and taking her hand said to her with ineffable tenderness, while tears sprang into his eyes, "Maria, my daughter, you mustn't die!"

The sick girl opened her eyes and stared at him with a strange expression. No one who knew the Franciscan had suspected in him such tender feelings, no one had believed that under his rude and rough exterior there might beat a heart. Unable to go on, he withdrew from the girl's side, weeping like a child, and went outside under the favorite vines of Maria Clara's balcony to give free rein to his grief.

"How he loves his goddaughter!" thought all present, while Fray Salvi gazed at him motionlessly and in silence, lightly gnawing his lips the while.

When he had become somewhat calm again Doña Victorina introduced Linares, who approached him respectfully. Fray Damaso silently looked him over from head to foot, took the letter offered and read it,