She had become so addicted to expressing herself by means of signs--and of these she chose the loudest and most impressive--that she could have given odds to the inventor of Volapuk.
Sisa, therefore, had the good fortune not to understand her, so the Medusa smoothed out her eyebrows a little, while a smile of satisfaction lighted up her face; undoubtedly she did not know Tagalog, she was an _orofea!_ "Boy, tell her in Tagalog to sing! She doesn't understand me, she doesn't understand Spanish!" The madwoman understood the boy and began to sing the _Song of the Night_.

Dona Consolacion listened at first with a sneer, which disappeared little by little from her lips.

She became attentive, then serious, and even somewhat thoughtful.

The voice, the sentiment in the lines, and the song itself affected her--that dry and withered heart was perhaps thirsting for rain.

She understood it well: "The sadness, the cold, and the moisture that descend from the sky when wrapped in the mantle of night," so ran the _kundiman_, seemed to be descending also on her heart.