"Very well, so I will, and this is the first sign of life," said Florentina, laughing and patting the mattress.
"When I hear you laugh, I feel as if a breath of sweet fresh air blew round me, and all my senses help in some way to remind me of you. Your image lives in my memory so vividly, that even with my eyes bandaged I can see you still the same."
"Will you have done chattering or must I fetch Don Teodoro?" said the girl gaily.
"No, no—stay quiet. I cannot be silent—if I were to be silent all my thoughts—all I can see in my brain—would only torment me twice as much. And you want me to go to sleep! Sleep! But I have you in here, Florentina, making a turmoil in my brain, and driving me crazy. I am so full of joy and rapture that I have no words to express them. All last night I fancied I was talking to you and to Nela.—Poor little Nela! I am most curious to see her.—Desperately curious."
"Well, I will find her to-morrow. Now, have done with your talking; if you do not cease I shall go."
"No, stop. I will only talk to myself. I will say all the things I say to you at night when I fancy we are alone together—I will remember what you say to me."
"I?"
"Well, the things I can fancy I hear said in your voice—Now, do you be silent, Señorita. I am alone now with my own imaginings."
The next day when Florentina came up to her cousin's room, she said: