of the townspeople whom Ibarra had
invited to meet his guests of the morning, and lunch with them
under improvised tents beside a brook, in the shade of the ancient
trees of the wooded peninsula. Music was resounding in the place,
and water sang in the kettles. The body of the crocodile, in tow of
the boats, turned from side to side; sometimes presenting its belly,
white and torn, sometimes its spotted back and mossy shoulders. Man,
the favorite of nature, is little disturbed by his many fratricides.

The party dispersed, some going to the baths, some wandering among
the trees. The silent young helmsman disappeared. A path with many
windings crossed the thicket of the wood and led to the upper course
of the warm brook, formed from some of the many thermal springs on
the flanks of the Makiling. Along the banks of the stream grew wood
flowers, many of which have no Latin names, but are none the less
known to golden bugs, to butterflies, shaded, jewelled, and bronzed,
and to thousands of coleopters powdered with gold and gleaming with
facets of steel. The hum of these insects, the song of birds, or the
dry sound of dead branches catching in their fall, alone broke the
mysterious silence. Suddenly the tones of fresh, young voices were
added to the wood notes. They seemed to come down the brook.

"We shall see if I find a nest!" said a sweet and resonant voice. "I
should like to see him without his seeing me. I should like to follow
him everywhere."

"I don't believe in heron's nests," said another voice; "but if I
were in love, I should know how at once to see and to be invisible."

It was Maria Clara, Victoria, and Sinang walking in the brook. Their
eyes were on the water, where they were searching for the mysterious
nest. In blouses striped with dainty colors, their full bath skirts
wet to the knees, outlining the graceful curves of their bodies,
they moved along, seeking the impossible, meanwhile picking flowers
along the banks. Soon the little stream bent its course, and the tall
reeds hid the charming trio and cut off the sound of their voices.

A little farther on, in the middle of the stream, was a sort of bath,
well enclosed, its roof of leafy bamboo; palm leaves, flowers, and
streamers decked its sides. From here, too, came girls' voices. Farther
on was a bamboo bridge, and beyond that the men were bathing, while a
multitude of servants were busy plucking fowls, washing rice, roasting
pigs. In the clearing on