Here and there, the water rippled into circles the colour of agate; groups of duck were bathing in the moonlight. I put my hand to my gun. I raised my eyes, I was ready to pull--when I paused. A melodious song, scarcely intelligible, could be heard coming from the lake. It was a simple song, and monotonous, but its remoteness, the echo across the water, the clear light of the moon, lent it a profound charm. I immediately thought of the lady of the lake. I placed my gun beside me and listened. It was a simple and touching melody. It had ceased for some time, but I still strained my ears; I could only catch the soft murmur of the distant weir. Time passed, and yet I still expected something to happen. After a while I heard distinctly the soft splash of oars. I looked everywhere, I could not make out whence it came. Then, suddenly, amid the obscurity of the rushes, the gently floating boat came gliding into the sea of light with the girl reclining in the silvery beams. The lily shone in her dark hair. I cannot tell you what I felt, for the storm of emotion cannot be expressed in words, and besides that, I was young then, and half a century has passed since my youth. I know I stood with wondering eyes and gazed like one possessed: in very truth this was the fairy of the lake! All at once I saw a movement. The boat turned, and the oars struck the water, making great ripples of light. It was directed towards my cave. She came with wild speed, staring, her great eyes like phosphorescent stars. But when she got near, she once more let the boat glide, then turned abruptly, and laughing passed by the cave--a silvery laugh, which I have never forgotten, no, not to this day although it is so long ago. She passed by like a phantom, laughing, and her eyes shining like two stars in the night of those great eyebrows. To the right of me she rose, and threw something towards me; then, sinking down, she again took the oars, struck the water, and shot out into the open lake. She disappeared. One could only hear the soft stroke of the oars; then that, too, ceased, and perfect silence fell upon the silvery lake. By my side I found a bouquet of carnations and sweet basil, the flowers of love. At daybreak the old man came to take me off. When I turned towards the yard I once again bent my head in the direction of the old black building. Eyes watched me through the chink in the mill bridge. That very day I went away. Many a time have I wanted to return to the old Zavu mill, but fate has willed it otherwise. At last, when I could have done so, other loves have held me in other places. Years have passed, but the bunch of dried carnations and basil reminds me of it all. And from time to time, my thoughts wander to the fairy of the lake. THE EASTER TORCH By I. L. CARAGIALE