hose look fascinates and drags beneath the waters of the river
the imprudent ones who gaze a her."

"Oh, as for the 'Mae d'Aqua,' she exists!" cried the naive Lina; "they
say that she still walks on the banks, but disappears like a water
sprite as soon as you approach her."

"Very well, Lina," said Benito; "the first time you see her just let me
know."

"So that she may seize you and take you to the bottom of the river?
Never, Mr. Benito!"

"She believes it!" shouted Minha.

"There are people who believe in the trunk of Manaos," said Fragoso,
always ready to intervene on behalf of Lina.

"The 'trunk of Manaos'?" asked Manoel. "What about the trunk of Manaos?"

"Mr. Manoel," answered Fragoso, with comic gravity, "it appears that
there is--or rather formerly was--a trunk of _'turuma,'_ which every
year at the same time descended the Rio Negro, stopping several days at
Manaos, and going on into Para, halting at every port, where the natives
ornamented it with little flags. Arrived at Belem, it came to a halt,
turned back on its road, remounted the Amazon to the Rio Negro, and
returned to the forest from which it had mysteriously started. One day
somebody tried to drag it ashore, but the river rose in anger, and the
attempt had to be given up. And on another occasion the captain of a
ship harpooned it and tried to tow it along. This time again the river,
in anger, broke off the ropes, and the trunk mysteriously escaped."

"What became of it?" asked the mulatto.

"It appears that on its last voyage, Miss Lina," replied Fragoso, "it
mistook the way, and instead of going up the Negro it continued in the
Amazon, and it has never been seen again."

"Oh, if we could only meet it!" said Lina.

"If we meet it," answered Benito, "we will put you on it! It will take
you back to the mysterious forest, and you will likewise pass into the
state of a legendary mind!"

"And why not?" asked the mulatto.

"So much for your legends," said Manoel; "and I think your river is
worthy of them. But it has also its histories, which are worth something
more. I know one, and if I were not afraid of grieving you--for it is a
very sad one--I would relate it."

"Oh! tell it, by all means, Mr. Manoel," exclaimed Lina; "I like stories
which make you cry!"

"What, do you cry, Lina?" said Benito.

"Yes, Mr. Benito; but I cry when laughing."

"Oh, well! let us save it, Manoel!"

"It is the history of a Frenchwoman whose sorrows rendere