Little by little, however, and seeing that the tremendous catastrophe did not take place, her nerves grew calmer, and before long she was laughing, giddy girl that she was, at her ridiculous fears.
In the Elorza falúa there was little talking. Don Mariano and Don Maximo were too full of medoc to feel like indulging in an animated conversation. The Señorita de Delgado, seconded by her sisters, admired the sunset with lively transports of enthusiasm, and with much opening and shutting of eyes. The Marquis of Peñalta had closed his, and seemed to be dozing with his cheek in his hand. One or two couples were whispering together.
What was Marta thinking about at that moment, her gaze fastened on the sea, serious, motionless, and pale as a statue? What black phantasms rose before her from the depths of the waters to trace in her fair brow the deep furrows with which it was corrugated? What deathly secrets whispered the breeze in her ear?
Ah! easier were it to unriddle the mystery in the murmurs of the ocean and the secrets of the breeze than the vague thoughts hidden behind a maiden's brow!
The sea once more tried to dispose itself for slumber; the crests of its waves no longer gleamed white from afar with their crown of foam; the horizon withdrew its indefinite line, which faded away in the twilight shadow. The smooth, swelling billows rose and fell like the indolent, tranquil breathing of a gigantic bosom. One by one, with lovely ease and confidence, the falúas, leaving them behind, swept onward to the port. The coast with its dark, undulating line girdled the luminous plain. Far in the distance inland, the peaks of the mountains could be seen bathed in a transparent violet haze.
Marta's thought broke through the glutted cloud which girt it in with a sea of confusions and vaguenesses, and in her soul arose all at once a host of sweet and ineffable recollections like so many luminous points with which the serene sky of her life was sown. She amused herself a long time in recounting them, taking new delight in each. How bright and beautiful they burned in her memory! What a gentle light they cast over the monotonous, laborious days of her existence! They were surrounded by silence and mystery; no one had enjoyed them, no one had known them except herself; the very hand which had dropped into her heart the balm of joy was absolutely ignorant of its beneficent influence. This thought filled her with a secret delight which brought a smile to her pale lips. One by one, however, and without her knowing why, those luminous points vanished away, were blotted out and lost in the deep, black abyss of an idea. Her imagination began to fly about like a bewildered bird within this sad and desperate idea where not the slightest ray of light could penetrate. Why was she in the world? The happiness which she had discovered was another's, and there was nothing else left to do but to look upon it without grief and without envy, for envy in this case would be a terrible sin. And was she sure of not falling into it at any moment, or what was worse, was she sure of not raising her hand against that happiness? The hidden beach on the island came instantly into her memory, with its golden sands and its foaming waves flinging their foam flakes upon her. A great remorse, a keen, cruel remorse, began to make its way into her innocent heart like the sharp point of a dagger, causing her such anguish that she uttered a muffled groan heard only by herself. Confusion and dizziness tormented her brain; her head burned like a volcano. She raised her hand to her brow, and it was as cold as though made of marble. This gave her an extraordinary shock of surprise. So much heat within and so cold without!
The ocean at that moment seemed full of peace and gentleness. The sun was just about submerging his heated face in the crystal of the waters, but still lighted up a few places in the vast plain with a fantastic, gilded light, leaving others in the shade. The murmurs were heavier and deeper, of an infinite melancholy; that measureless mass of water was slowly losing its azure hue and changing to another, of very opaque green, sown here and there with fleeting reflections. The melancholy ease with which the sea took leave of the light made a deep impression upon Marta. With her head leaned over the water, and with dreamy eyes, she watched the most delicate tints which the light was awakening in it, and listened to the murmurs which resounded in the depths.
The sun was entirely sunken. The ocean gave one immense, colossal sob. In this sob was so much compassion that Marta thought she felt the ambient air vibrate with a movement of sympathy and wonder. Never had she seen the sea so grand and so sublime, so strong and so generous at once. That august silence, that momentary repose of the great athlete, moved her to the depths of her soul, filled her turbulent spirit with an ardent desire for peace. Who had told her that the sea was terrible? What small heart had spoken to her of his cruel treacheries? Ah, no! The sea was noble and generous, as the strong always are, and his wrath, though fearful, was quickly over: in his tranquil depths live happily pearls and corals, the white sea-nymphs, the purple fishes.
The falúa, when it pressed up against his humid shoulder, made between bow and stern a broad, comfortable couch, with foamy edges, a couch where one might sleep eternally with face turned toward the sky, watching through the transparent bosom of the water the flashing of the stars.
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