Before sunset I had seen my father’s house whitening on the shoulder of the mountain. As I drew near it, I anxiously noted the groups of willows and orange-trees behind which I saw the glancing lights in the rooms. I was breathing, at last, the fragrance one never forgets of the garden he has seen planted. My horses’ hoofs rang upon the pavement of the court. I heard a vague cry; it was the voice of my mother. She caught me in her arms, and drew me to her bosom. A mist gathered before my eyes; it was the work of perfect joy in an innocent nature.
When I tried to recognize in the women I saw about me the sisters whom I had left children, I saw María standing by my side: her eyes were concealed behind their broad, heavily fringed lids. Her face was the one to wear the deepest blush as my arm touched her waist; and her eyes were yet moist when she smiled at my first affectionate word, like those of a child whose tears have been dried by a mother’s caress.
III
At eight we went to the dining-room, which had a most attractive eastern exposure. From it could be seen the naked summits of the mountains against the starry background of the sky. The desert breeze played through the garden gathering perfumes, and rustled in the rosebushes all around us. At times it would die down, and then could be heard the murmur of the river. Nature seemed to be displaying all her beauty that night, as if to welcome a guest.
My father sat at the head of the table, and placed me at his right; my mother sat in her usual place at his left; my sisters and the children were promiscuously seated, and María was opposite me. My father, somewhat aged during my absence, cast pleased glances at me, and smiled with his own peculiar expression of mingled raillery and affection. My mother said little: she was the happiest of all present. My sisters pressed dainties upon me, and there was always a smile upon the face of the one to whom I spoke. María kept her eyes hidden from me resolutely; yet I could see that they had the brilliance and beauty belonging to those of the women of her race, in the instant when, in spite of herself, she let them fall full upon me. Her moist red lips had a prettily commanding curve; once they revealed to me the beautiful arch of her teeth. The waves of her dark hair were confined in two long braids, and on one side she wore a pink. Her dress was of light muslin, almost blue, and a fine cotton scarf, with its purple folds, was drawn over her bosom and up to her white throat. I admired her beautifully turned arms, and her hands as delicate as a queen’s.
When supper was over the slaves cleared the table: one of them said the Lord’s Prayer, and their master and mistress finished the evening devotions. I then fell into a quiet chat with my parents. María carried off the child that had fallen asleep in her lap, and my sisters followed her to their rooms; they loved her intensely, and would almost quarrel for her favor.
My mother wished me to go to see the room which had been assigned to me. María and my sisters, already less timid, came to witness the effect upon me of the way in which the room was adorned. It was in the front of the house, its single window-casing being about the right height for a table; the sashes and blinds were open, and branches of rosebushes, in full flower, pushed in to complete the ornamentation of the window-seat, where was placed a beautiful vase of blue porcelain filled with lilies and irises, pinks and yellow narcissuses from the river.
“What lovely flowers!” I exclaimed.
“María remembered how much you liked them,” remarked my mother.
I turned to thank her, and her eyes managed that time to meet my gaze.
“María,” I said, “won’t you keep them for me? for they are harmful in a sleeping-room.”
“Is that so?” said she; “then I will take them away until morning.”
What a lovely voice she had!
“Are there many as beautiful as these?”
“Oh, a great many; you can have them fresh every day.”
Then my mother kissed me good night, and Emma gave me her hand; María, too, yielding me hers for an instant, smiled upon me; it was the dimpled smile of my childish dreams of love—like the smile one detects on the face of a Virgin of Raphael’s.
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
