I shut my eyes, covered them with my hands, and sought to forget the
present in the past. In a rapid reverie, the recollections of childhood
and youth came back one by one, soft, calm, smiling, like islands of
flowers on the black gulf of confused thoughts which whirled through my
brain.
I was again a child,--a laughing, healthy schoolboy, playing, running,
shouting with my brothers, in the broad green walks of the old garden
where my first years were passed.
And then, four years later, behold me there again, still a child, but a
passionate dreamer. And there is a young girl in the garden,--a little
Spaniard, with large eyes and long hair, her dark polished skin, her
rosy lips and cheeks, the Andalusian of fourteen, named _Pepa_. Our
mothers had told us to “go and run together;” we had come forth to
walk. They had told us to play; but we had talked instead. Only the year
before, we used to play and quarrel and dispute together. I tyrannized
over Pepita for the best apple in the orchard; I beat her for a bird’s
nest. She cried; I scolded her, and we went to complain of each other to
our mothers. But now--she was leaning on my arm, and I felt proud and
softened. We walked slowly, and we spoke low. I gathered for her some
flowers, and our hands trembled on meeting. She spoke to me of the
birds, of the sky above us, of the crimson sun-set behind the trees; or
else of her schoolfellows, her gown and ribbons. We talked in innocence,
but we both blushed. The child had grown into a young girl. After we had
walked for some time, I made her sit down on a bank; she was smiling. I
was serious.
“Sit down there,” said she, “there is still daylight; let us read
something. Have you a book?”
I happened to have a favourite volume with me. I drew near her, and
opened it by chance. She leaned her shoulder against mine, and we began
to read the same page. Before turning the leaf, she was always obliged
to wait for me. My mind was less quick than hers. “Have you finished?”
she would ask, when I had only just commenced. Then our heads leaned
together, our hair mixed, our breath gradually mingled, and at last our
lips met.
When we again thought of continuing our reading it was starlight. I
shall remember that evening all my life!
Oh, heavens! All _my_ life!