V

and she, as she has told me, also felt the same. Neither she nor I ran. We stayed there. All at once I felt an extraordinary movement of my intellect. Breaking the silence, I began to talk with her. We talked about all sorts of indifferent things at first, but to me came thoughts beyond my usual understanding, surpassing the ordinary, and all, all, all, I uttered. Mariquilla answered me little, but her eyes were only more eloquent than when I was talking to her. At last Father Rincón called, and we marched away. I took leave of her, and in a low voice said that we would soon meet again. We returned to Saragossa. Yes, the street, the trees, the Ebro, the cupola of the Pilar, the belfries of Saragossa, the passersby, the houses, the walls of the garden, the pavements, the sound of the wind, the dogs of the street, all seemed different to me, all, heaven and earth had been changed. My good teacher began to read again in Horace, and I said that Horace wasn’t worth anything. He wished me to dine with him, and threatened me with the loss of his friendship. I praised Virgil with enthusiasm, and repeated the celebrated lines⁠—