"You will not say? You are modest. Indeed, if you were not, you would not be the sweet little soul that you are; the logic of Beauty would be at fault, and that cannot be. You do not answer?"
"I ..." murmured Nela timidly, not ceasing her occupation, "I do not know—they say that I was very pretty as a baby—but now...."
"You are still?"
María, in her utter confusion, could only say:
"Now—well, you know that people talk nonsense—and make stupid mistakes—sometimes those who have eyes see least."
"Yes indeed, well said! Come here and kiss me."
Nela did not instantly obey, for having succeeded in fixing a sort of garland of flowers in her hair, she now felt an eager wish to see the effect of the adornment in the clear mirror of the reservoir. For the first time in her life she felt an impulse of vanity, and leaning on her hands, she bent over the basin.
"What are you doing?" asked the blind lad.
"I am looking at myself in the water, which is just like a looking-glass," she replied, confessing her vanity with perfect simplicity.
"You need not do that. You are as lovely as the angels round the throne of God." He had fired himself with enthusiastic imaginings.