"Unburden and welcome," said Bato, "until thou art tired. As for me, I shall put such a knot in my tongue that even shouldst thou chatter like a parrot I shall be mute." He seated himself on a large rock and pretended to sleep; and then for fifteen minutes Arcadio unburdened himself to the mountains and the stars.
"Oh, Laura, inconstant, ungrateful and inhuman, why hast thou caused me such woe? Thou hast wounded my faith and my honor and hast put my soul in torment. Why dost thou mock my ardent love? Oh, thou steep stills and towering mountains, help me to express my woe! And thou, stern, immovable cliffs, and thou, silent woods, help me to ease my heart of its pain...."
Amid heartfelt and sympathetic silence the audience mourned with Arcadio. A few women sobbed openly.
Finally Bato could stand it no longer.
"Let us go to supper," he said. "Better it is to suffer a little at a time!"
A perfect gale of laughter cut off the end of the sentence.
Arcadio: "To thee only, Bato, have I confided my secret."
Bato (aside): "I do not believe I can keep it! Already my mouth itches to tell it. This fool will learn that 'a secret and a pledge to none should be entrusted.'"
Enter a group of shepherds with their shepherdesses, singing. They were dressed in their feminine Sunday best with flowery summer hats, and carried enormous wooden apostolic crooks, hung with paper flowers and strings of bells.
"Beautiful is this night beyond compare,—
Beautiful and peaceful as never before,
And happy the mortal who beholds it.
Everything proclaims that the Son of God,
The Word Divine made human flesh,
Will soon be born in Bethlehem
And mankind's ransom be complete."