Round her forehead lay a thick dark wreath of corn-flowers, beneath which the bandage showed startling white. Her hands were ceaselessly playing with long chains of sapphires and emeralds. She gathered them into her palms, and let them slip between her fingers, down upon her golden robe, like bright water splashing out of a precious jar. Around the well, upon low marble seats, were grouped the fairest maidens that earth could give, and they were like unto a wreath of many-shaded flowers. They all had coronals of blossoms on their heads in the shades of the robes they wore; and each held a golden harp on which she played tunes that melted heart and soul. All the maidens turned their eyes towards the beautiful lad who lay among the folds of the woman's dress--but none, oh! none had the orbs of his dream! He had searched their faces in turn, and it had been all in vain. Fair faces they had; their arms were soft and white; their long hair trailed on the ground mixing with the petals that had fallen from the wreaths. The air was heavy with the perfume that came from the flowers, and the sweet tones of the harps sighed amongst the spreading branches of the trees. But Eric was restless, he felt cramped in this garden of beauty; resentment began to grow in his heart against this fair being who played with him as a child plays with a toy. She lured him on, yet never did she satisfy the longing of his soul! Every time that he extended his hand to tear the covering from her eyes, with a word or gesture she changed the current of his thoughts. When he asked to be shown the road that would take him back whence he had come, the woman would laugh--the laugh he had begun to hate,--and cover his face with soft caresses which seemed to drain all his manhood and leave him without will or power to think. Within his heart he made plans how he might escape. The sweet perfumes, the melting voices, the endless well-being, the tropical fruit he was ever feasting upon, wearied and sickened him; and yet he felt he could not leave this bewitching sorceress before he had seen the colour of her eyes. But somehow, although he wished it with a fevered longing, he also dreaded the disappointment it might bring. And there he lay in this enchanted garden eating his heart out with the longing for freedom, and yet unable to break through the silken bonds that held him as with chains of iron! IX L'espoir même a des portes closes; Cette terre est pleine de choses Dont nous ne voyons qu'un côte. V. HUGO.