He called out something indoors, where the women were keeping out of sight and the little sisters giggling. He stepped into the carriage by her side. They drove down the avenue of ferns; and suddenly they saw the Sacred Lake of Lellès, overshadowed by the circling swirl of the bats ever flapping round and round:
“Resident,” she whispered, “I feel it here....”
He smiled:
“They are only bats,” he said.
“But at Labuwangi ... it was perhaps only a rat.”
He just wrinkled his brows; then he smiled again, with the jovial smile about his thick moustache, and looked up with inquisitive eyes:
“What?” he said, softly. “Really? Do you feel it here?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t. It’s different with everybody.”
The giant bats shrilled their triumph in shrieks of desolation. The little carriage drove on and passed a little railway-halt. And, in the otherwise lonely region, it was strange to see a whole populace, a swarm of motley Sundanese, streaming towards the little station, eagerly gazing at a slow train which was approaching, belching black clouds of smoke amidst the bamboos. All their eyes were staring crazily, as though anticipating the bliss of the first glance, as though their first impression would be a treasure for their souls.