Intense curiosity now made me suddenly forget my troubles. I
scrambled back through the trees not tar from that spot and looked
around. There, sitting upon a grassy grave, beneath one of the
windows of the church, was a little girl, somewhat younger than
myself apparently. With her head bent back she was gazing up at the
sky and singing, while one of her little hands was pointing to a tiny
cloud that hovered like a golden feather over her head. The sun,
which had suddenly become very bright, shining on her glossy hair
(for she was bare-headed) gave it a metallic lustre, and it was
difficult to say what was the colour, dark bronze or black. So
completely absorbed was she in watching the cloud to which her
strange song or incantation seemed addressed, that she did not
observe me when I rose and went towards her. Over her head, high up
in the blue, a lark that was soaring towards the same gauzy cloud was
singing, as if in rivalry. As I slowly approached the child, I could
see by her forehead (which in the sunshine gleamed like a globe of
pearl), and especially by her complexion, that she was uncommonly
lovely, and I was afraid lest she should look down before I got close
to her, and so see my crutches before her eyes encountered my face.
She did not, however, seem to hear me coming along the grass (so
intent was she with her singing) until I was close to her, and
throwing my shadow over her. Then she suddenly lowered her head and
looked at me in surprise. I stood transfixed at her astonishing
beauty. No other picture has ever taken such possession of me. In its
every detail it lives before me now. Her eyes (which at one moment
seemed blue grey, at another violet) were shaded by long black
lashes, curving backward in a most peculiar way, and these matched
in hue her eyebrows, and the tresses that were tossed about her
tender throat and were quivering in the sunlight.