But when Prince Ahab had gone, she said, sniffing the air with vexation, “Men ought to stay out of the women’s apartments, where they have no business, whether they are uncles or not.” Seizing a vial of sweet-smelling oil, she began to sprinkle its contents in the room. This consoled her nose, which had been outraged by the prince, who, as usual, had come from the stables. Judith went out into the warm spring morning. The bees were humming in the blossoms, the birds sang quietly and gaily in the trees, and trees and blossoms stretched themselves luxuriously in the bright sunshine. Judith took a deep breath of the hot, sweet air; it was like eating flowers, she thought. Underfoot, in the grass, beetles moved gravely to and fro on their mysterious business; the world of stones and twigs was being explored by little eager ants; wasps hung and buzzed. The earth exhaled the beneficent fragrance of spring; everywhere was drowsy joy, tranquil activity. A tanager flew overhead with scarlet wings, turned, shone, and fled among the trees. The girl paused, and looked up at the sky, blue as a robin’s egg. “I should like to dance,” she thought. A moment later she added doubtfully, “But perhaps it would be wrong.” At her feet a beetle with a bright green coat which reflected the light was walking soberly toward his house. Presently an ant approached him and gave him a bite on the leg. The beetle turned an anxious look on his tiny assailant, whose head barely came up to his knee, “Come, come,” he exclaimed, “have you no respect for beauty? Do you think God enjoys having you bite me? He would be very much upset if anything happened to me.” Disdaining to reply, the ant went away to find his friends and discuss the situation. “I gave it to him,” he said; “I gave him a bite he won’t forget in a hurry. Now he knows who I am.” Left to himself, the beetle hurried home in an agitated manner. And Judith, remarking his awkward gait, cried, “There, you are dancing, you strange creature, with your lovely green coat. But that is quite another matter, because you are a beetle, and not a Jew.” She had a sudden thought. “Perhaps,” she said, “that is why you are dancing. Perhaps you are a little god, with such a fine green coat. Well, go in peace, I will not step on you. I will make a wish, instead. Little beetle, tell me what love is. It does not interest me, really; I would simply like to know....” She broke off with a start. A shadow had fallen on the grass at her feet, and she looked up with surprise. There, behind her and to one side, stood a young man. He was not good-looking, but his expression was gentle and kind. He had on an old, tattered cloak, and he leaned thoughtfully upon a rough staff which easily supported his weight. Judith looked at him with wide-open eyes. “Oh, my,” she said. And she added faintly, but in accents of hope, “Are you also a camel driver?” The young man shook his head. “No,” he said, “I am not a camel driver.”