“No,” answered Tiburcio, “I saw the great ocean for the first time at Guaymas—that was four years ago—and yet from what has been told me I should have also seen it when I was a child.”
“But, when you saw it four years ago, did it not recall anything to your memory?”
“No, nothing.”
“Nothing?” repeated the Canadian, interrogatively, and in a despairing tone.
“Nothing more than this same dream, which I have mistaken no doubt for reality.”
Bois-Rose again resumed his attitude of melancholy, and remained silent.
After a pause Tiburcio continued:
“One figure appears to me in these visions that is different from the rest.”
“What sort of figure?” inquired the Canadian, with renewed interest.
“That of a man of a hale rude countenance, but notwithstanding one of kindly expression. This man loved me, for I now have his face before me more clearly than I ever had; and I can trace that expression upon it.”