I marked the littoral cities as we progressed on that side, where earth ends and the Pacific Ocean begins, and infinitude.
Then, in a sudden burst of inspiration, I described the Cordilleras to her--that world-long, stupendous chain; its sea of Titicaca, and wintry, desolate Paramo, where lie the ruins of Tiahuanaco, older than Thebes.
I mentioned its principal cities--those small inflamed or festering pimples that attract much attention from appearing on such a body.
Quito, called--not in irony, but by its own people--the Splendid and the Magnificent; so high above the earth as to appear but a little way removed from heaven--"de Quito al cielo," as the saying is.

But of its sublime history, its kings and conquerors, Haymar Capac the Mighty, and Huascar, and Atahualpa the Unhappy, not one word.

Many words--how inadequate!--of the summits, white with everlasting snows, above it--above this navel of the world, above the earth, the ocean, the darkening tempest, the condor's flight.

Flame-breathing Cotopaxi, whose wrathful mutterings are audible two hundred leagues away, and Chimborazo, Antisana, Sarata, Illimani, Aconcagua--names of mountains that affect us like the names of gods, implacable Pachacamac and Viracocha, whose everlasting granite thrones they are.

At the last I showed her Cuzco, the city of the sun, and the highest dwelling-place of men on earth.
I was carried away by so sublime a theme; and remembering that I had no critical hearer, I gave free reins to fancy, forgetting for the moment that some undiscovered thought or feeling had prompted her questions.
And while I spoke of the mountains, she hung on my words, following me closely in my walk, her countenance brilliant, her frame quivering with excitement.
There yet remained to be described all that unimaginable space east of the Andes; the rivers--what rivers!--the green plains that are like the sea--the illimitable waste of water where there is no land--and the forest region.