Tall weeping-willows bent with a melancholy air above the water, that reflected back their tremulous branches, among which could be seen the disk of the sun, whose rays, concentrated by this species of camera obscura, struck the eye with the force of arrows. In a labyrinth in the lake, an enormous clump of malangas displayed their exuberant tropical vegetation, their gigantic fan-like leaves motionless in the still air. Swans and ducks paddled--the former, with their accustomed fantastic grace, swaying their long necks, the latter, quacking harshly,--toward the bank, the moment Lucía and Pilar appeared, in quest of bits of bread, which they swallowed greedily, raising their tails in the air as each mouthful went down. The islet, with its pine tree, cast a mysterious shade over the surface of the lake. A sheaf of reeds raised their slender forms and by their side the sharp poas shook their brushes of chestnut velvet.
A delightful coolness rose from the water. The landscape breathed a tender melancholy, a gentle drowsiness, the repose of mother nature, fatigued with the continued production of the summer, and preparing for her winter sleep. Lucía was no longer a child; external objects now spoke to her eloquently, and she began to listen to their voice. The scene before her plunged her into vague meditation. Her soul seemed to detach itself from her body, as the leaf detaches itself from the branch, and like it to wander without aim or object, yielding itself up to the delight of annihilation, to the sweetness of non-existence. And how pleasant death must be, a death like that of the leaves,--a gentle loosening of the bonds of life, the passage to more beautiful regions, the satisfaction of the mysterious longings hidden in the recesses of the soul! When ideas like these thronged to her mind, a bird, perhaps, would fly down from some tree; she would hear the fluttering of its wings in the air; it would hop along the sanded walk, ruffling its feathers among the dead leaves; she would approach, and suddenly it would fly away and go to perch on the topmost branch of the murmuring acacias.
The voice of the sick girl would break the spell.
“Eh, child, what are you thinking about? How romantic those girls brought up in the provinces are!”