at was
taking possession of him in spite of himself. But at last he yielded:
he stretched out his feet, settled his head comfortably, yawned
tremendously, and soon was sleeping like a log.

It was broad daylight when three or four women precipitately invaded the
parlor, shouting at the top of their voices:--

"Don Miguel!... Rivera!... Senorito!"

"What is the matter?" he cried, looking up in alarm.

"Nothing, except that you have a son! Come, come!"

And they pulled him with them to the chamber, where he saw his wife,
still seated in an easy-chair, her face pale, but beaming with celestial
happiness. At the same instant he saw Juana in one corner with a
_something_ in her hands that was squalling horribly! He could not bear
to look at _it_ for an instant, but turned his face to his wife and
kissed her tenderly.

When Miguel left the room, his heart was in his mouth.

When he found himself alone he began to weep like a child.

"Poor little wife!" he murmured. "She suffered without a complaint, and
there I was sleeping like a brute! I shall never forgive myself for such
selfishness as long as I live!... Still, it was the fault of those
women," he added, with a sudden wrath; "those meddlesome persons who
drove me out of the room."

His remorse quickly subsided, and gave way to a thousand pleasant
emotions of paternity. He wanted to go in a second time; but the women!
always those women!--they blocked his way, saying that the infant was
not yet washed and swaddled, or his wife put to bed.

When all this was accomplished, he went into her room; his wife was
lovelier than ever as she lay in bed, with a lace cap adorned with blue
ribbons on her head, and wearing a clean white night-dress. He sat down
at the head of the bed, and the two looked at each other in amazement;
under the pretext of feeling of her pulse, he pressed her hand long and
tenderly. _La brigadiera_ then presented him a bundle of clothes,
saying:--

"Here you have your son."

Miguel took the bundle and lifted it close to his eyes, and saw a little
round red face without a nose, its eyes shut, and its forehead
depressed, and from its comparatively enormous mouth issued sounds that
were farthest from melodious.

"How ugly it is!" he said aloud.

A cry of indignation escaped from every one of the women, even his wife.

"What an atrocious thing to say, Rivera!"--"How can you imagine such a
thing!"--"What makes you think that it is ugly, senorit