I come from wandering over the plain, and as the bee that returns to the
hive with its booty of sweet honey, I bring with me woman’s sighs,
children’s prayers, words of chaste love, and aromas of nard and wild
lilies. I have gathered in my journey no more than fragrances and echoes
of harmonies; my treasures are not material, but they give peace of soul
and the vague happiness of pleasant dreams.
* * * * *
While her sister, drawn on and on as by a spell, was leaning over the
margin of the fountain to hear better, Magdalena was instinctively
moving away, withdrawing from the steep rocks in whose midst bubbled the
spring.
Both had their eyes fixed, the one on the depth of the waters, the other
on the depth of the sky.
And Magdalena exclaimed, seeing the astral splendors overhead: “These
are the halos of the invisible angels who have us in their keeping.”
At the same instant Marta was saying, seeing the reflection of the stars
tremble in the clear waters of the fountain: “These are the particles of
gold which the stream gathers in its mysterious course.”
The fountain and the wind, after a second brief period of silence, spoke
again and said: