"You are not afraid of thunder?" asked Glenarvan of the boy.
"Well, so much the better; for the storm is now not far distant."
"And it will be violent," continued Paganel, "so far as I can judge from the state of the sky."
"It is not the storm that troubles me," said Glenarvan, "but the torrents of rain with which it will be accompanied. We shall be drenched to the skin again. Whatever you may say, Paganel, a nest cannot suffice a man, as you will soon learn to your cost."
"Oh, yes, it can, with philosophy," briskly replied the geographer.
"Philosophy does not prevent you from getting wet."
"Well, then," said Glenarvan, "let us join our friends and persuade them to envelop us with their philosophy and their ponchos as closely as possible, and especially to lay in a stock of patience, for we shall need it."
So saying, he gave another look at the threatening sky. The mass of clouds now covered it entirely. A faint line of light towards the horizon was scarcely discernible in the dimness. The sombre appearance of the water had increased, and between the dark mass below and the clouds above there was scarcely a separation. At the same time all perception seemed dulled; and a leaden torpor rested upon both eyes and ears, while the silence was profound.
"Let us go down," said Glenarvan; "the lightning will soon be here."
His two companions and himself slid down the smooth branches, and were somewhat surprised to find themselves in a remarkable kind of twilight, which was produced by myriads of luminous objects that crossed each other and buzzed on the surface of the water.
"No," replied Paganel, "but phosphorescent insects, real glow-worms,--living diamonds, and not expensive, of which the ladies of Buenos Ayres make magnificent ornaments for themselves."
"What!" cried Robert, "are these things, that fly like sparks, insects?"
Robert caught one of the brilliant creatures. Paganel was right. It was a kind of large beetle, an inch in length, to which the Indians give the name of "tuco-tuco." This curious insect threw out flashes at two points situated in front of its sheath, and its light would have enabled one to read in the darkness. Paganel, on bringing it close to his watch, saw that it was ten o'clock.