IV

I slept as I used to when a child, after being lulled to slumber by a fairy story told me by the slave Pedro. I dreamed that María came in to renew the flowers on my table, and that when she went out she brushed against the curtains of my bed with her skirt of gauzy muslin dotted with blue flowers.

When I awoke the birds were fluttering about among the leaves of the orange-trees, in full song, and the perfume of the orange-blossoms filled my room as soon as I unfastened the shutters. Then María’s sweet, clear voice reached my ears; it was her childish voice become more serious, and ready now to lend itself to all the intonation of tenderness and passion. How many times in my dreams an echo of that voice has since come to my soul, and my eyes have searched in vain that garden where I saw her, in all her loveliness, that August morning!

As soon as I had lightly clothed myself I opened the window and perceived María, together with Emma, in one of the garden paths; her dress was darker than the one she had worn in the evening, and her purple scarf, belted at the waist, fell over her skirt like a sash; her long hair, parted into two masses, half hid her shoulder and breast. Both she and my sister were barefoot. She was carrying a little porcelain vase, scarcely whiter than her arms, which she was going to fill with roses that had opened in the night, rejecting the less dewy and luxuriant ones. Laughing with her companion, she buried her cheeks, fresher than the roses, in the odorous vase. Emma suddenly discovered me. María observed it, and without turning towards me, fell on her knees to hide her feet from me, loosened her scarf from her waist, and throwing it over her shoulders, pretended to be playing with the flowers. The daughters of the patriarchs, gathering flowers in the early dawn for the temple service, were not more beautiful.

After breakfast my mother summoned me to her sewing-room; she wanted me at her side constantly. Emma and María were there embroidering. The latter began to smile when I entered; she was thinking, perhaps, of the start I had given her in the morning. Emma began to ask me a thousand things about Bogotá; commanded me to describe to them magnificent balls, elegant dresses, and the most beautiful women then figuring in refined society. They listened without giving over their work. María rose to consult my mother about the embroidery; her light and noble walk revealed the unsubdued pride of our race, and the fascinating modesty of a pure and maiden soul. Her eyes lit up when my mother expressed a desire to have me give lessons to the girls in grammar and geography, studies in which they had made small advance. It was agreed that we should begin the lessons after a few days.

Somewhat later it was told me that my bath was ready, and I went to enjoy it. A thick and leafy orange-tree, loaded with ripe fruit, formed a pavilion above the broad tank of polished stone; roses were floating in the water; it was an Oriental bath, perfumed with the flowers which María had gathered in the morning.