"I do believe it," said Mariquilla, greatly comforted by her friend's words. "What can they see to laugh at in me?"
"Oh! how miserable is the lot of man!" cried the blind boy, driven to wild absurdity by his raving fancy. "The gift of sight may lead him into many errors—may betray him into a misapprehension of abstract truth—and abstract truth proves that you are beautiful, without any stain or blemish of ugliness. If any one tells me the contrary, I will give him the lie. Away with their theories of form. Oh, fool! into what sins your eyes may mislead you! Nela, come here, I want to have you by my side and kiss your beloved head."
She threw herself into his arms.
"Sweet, lovely darling!" he exclaimed, clasping her passionately to his breast. "With all my soul I love you!"
Nela did not speak. Her heart was full of innocent and tender devotion, overflowing with pure delight. The youth, trembling and throbbing, held her more closely than ever, saying:
"I love you more than my life. Angel of God, love me too or I shall die!"
María freed herself from his embrace, and he remained lost in bewilderment. She, the tiny woman, felt an overwhelming and irresistible impulse to look at her face once more in the water. She gently stole up to the edge, and there against the green background she saw the insignificant little face, with its black eyes, its dull coloring, its sharp nose—not altogether ugly that nose—the short, unkempt hair, and the birdlike, eager expression. She leaned farther over the stone brim to see her body; it was pitiably made and mean. The flowers in her hair fell into the water, making circles in it, and the image wavered. She, poor child, felt as if her heart were being torn up by the roots, and she staggered backwards, murmuring:
"Mother of God! how hideous I am!"
"What are you saying, Nela? I thought you spoke."
"I did not say anything—son of my soul.—I was only thinking.—Yes, it is high time we should turn homewards. It will soon be dinner-time."