The girls got him into a chair and thus they drew him to the door of his bedroom, which was on the same floor, not far away. Concha had not even made the bed. Things were just as they had been on the night of the raid, because _el padrón_ was very particular, and did not wish his possessions touched without orders, she explained volubly. Raquel helped her to lay the bed fresh and smooth, and to assist Don Nestor, weak and white, in the light of day, to get in. “Put my treasure chest under my bed,” he directed, smiling whimsically. “It is many years since I have had a charming woman to think of me and offer me her services. It is many years since my wife died--and my baby daughter.” Don Nestor was deeply affected, and Raquel patted his hand tenderly. “You must go now, my dear, and have rest,” he commanded. “What! No luncheon yet? Not even a _refresco_. Concha! Ah, what a place!” And he became at once so agitated and irascible that Raquel left, promising to eat something at once, and to lie down immediately. Piedad already had arranged a table in a cool corner of the gallery under a honeysuckle vine. Raquel ate the food as in a dream. She had come at length almost to the end of her own resources. She was no longer conscious of her burning foot, she scarcely knew she was ascending the stairs to her room--and then nothing. Concha undressed the limp, boyish figure on the bed--but, of course, she had known that the señorito was a girl--and tucked her sympathetically under the cool sheet, while she went across to the room opposite to see if that other _pobrecito_, so white faced, was still asleep. CHAPTER XVIII THE MAGIC FLAME It was many days before either Lois or Don Nestor left their beds. Raquel recovered almost at once, although she still limped, but it was fortunate that the two invalids kept her in the house, for it gave her lame foot a chance to heal. Lois lay listlessly in bed, not seeming to care much about anything. She made no trouble, asked for nothing, ate without appetite what was placed before her. Raquel could not understand it, and was worried at Lois’ indifference. She had seemed like another girl that last day in the desert. Truth to tell, Lois was recovering from shock, and kindly nature had merely employed a beneficent anesthesia to give her an opportunity to do so. While she gathered strength, Raquel talked with their host, diverting him from his pain and boredom, so that at the end of the fourth day he was out on the gallery, the ankle almost well. Raquel recounted to him in detail the incidents of her escape. At the story of the dance at Moctezuma he was highly elated and when she had finished he said: