Stephanette smiled with an mischievous air, went out, and returned followed by the Bohemian.

CHAPTER XIII. THE GUZLa OF THE EMIR.

Notwithstanding the humility of his position, the Bohemian did not appear to be much intimidated in the presence of Reine.

He saluted her with a sort of easy respect as he took a sharp and rapid survey of the objects which surrounded her.

As Stephanette had remarked, the Singer's exterior had greatly improved; his slender and well-formed figure looked wonderfully well in the scarlet doublet, the present from the baron; his collar was fastened with the flame-coloured ribbon, a present from Stephanette; he wore wide trousers of coa.r.s.e white stuff; his dark blue gaiters, embroidered with red wool, reached above his knees. His black hair enframed a thin, sunburnt but intelligent face.

He held in his hand a kind of guitar with a neck of ebony expensively inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl; at its upper end the neck formed a sort of palette, in the middle of which was a small, round plate chased with gold, resembling the lid of a medallion.

We emphasise the costliness of this instrument because it seemed very strange that a strolling Bohemian should be its possessor.

Stephanette herself was struck with it, and cried:

"Why, Singer, I never saw that beautiful guitar before!"

These words attracted the attention of Reine, and, as surprised as her maid, she said to the Bohemian:

"Really, this is a very expensive instrument for a travelling artisan."

"I am poor, mademoiselle, sometimes I have wanted bread, but ah! I would rather die of hunger than sell this guzla. My arms are weak, but they would become as strong as bra.s.s to defend this guzla. They would only take it from me after my death. It is my most precious treasure; I hardly dare to play it. But the rose of Anbiez wishes to hear me; all that I now desire is that my song may be worthy of the instrument and of her who listens to me."

The Bohemian spoke French quite purely, although he had something guttural in his Arabian accent.

Reine exchanged a glance of surprise with her attendant, as she heard this florid Oriental speech, which contrasted singularly with the condition of the wanderer.

"But this guzla, as you call this instrument, how did you come to possess it?"

The Bohemian shook his head sadly, and replied:

"That is a sad story, mademoiselle; there are more tears than smiles in it."

"Tell us,--tell us!" exclaimed Reine, deeply interested in the romantic turn the incident had taken. "Relate to us how this guzla came into your hands. You seem to be above your present condition."

The Bohemian uttered a profound sigh, fixed a piercing look on Reine, and struck a few chords which vibrated a long time under the arched roof of the turret.

"But tell me the story of this guzla," said Reine, with the impatience of a young girl.

The wanderer, without replying, made a supplicating gesture. He began to sing, accompanying himself with taste, or, rather, playing softly some air of tender melancholy, while, with a sweet and grave tone, he recited the following stanzas.

[Ill.u.s.tration: He began to sing ]

Although it lacked rhythm and rhyme, the language had a certain strange charm; he rendered in a sort of recitative the words:

"Far is the country where I was born; the sands of the desert surround it like an arid sea.

"I lived there with my mother: she was poor, she was old, she was blind.

"I loved my mother, as the unhappy love those who love them.

"My mother was sad, sad, very sad, after she had lost her sight.

"I went into the valley to look for flowers.

"She tried to console herself for not seeing their smiling faces by inhaling their perfume.

"The voice of a son is always sweet to the ear of a mother.

"I spoke to her; sometimes she smiled.

"But never to see! never to see! that filled her with sorrow.

"She sank by degrees into a mute despair.

"Before sinking into this despair, leaning on my arm, she went out; she loved to go at set of sun and sit under the orange-trees in the garden of the young and brave emir of our tribe.

"The gentle warmth of the sun revived my mother.

"She loved to listen to the murmur of the cascades, which seemed to sing as they fell into the basin of marble.

"One day, when she lamented more bitterly than ever the loss of her sight, she refused to go out.

"I prayed her; I wept; she was inflexible.

"Seated in the most solitary corner of our dwelling, her venerable head wrapped in her black mantle, she remained motionless.

"She no longer desired to eat; she wished to die.

"For one long, for one long night, she refused everything.

"In vain I said: 'My mother, my mother, like you also I shall die.'

"She remained silent and gloomy.

"I took her hand, her hand already frozen. I tried to warm it with my breath: she wished to withdraw her hand."

In saying these words, the voice of the Bohemian had such an expression of sadness, and the sounds that he drew from his guzla were so melancholy, that Reine and Stephanette silently exchanged glances suffused with tears. The Bohemian continued without perceiving the emotion he had excited:

"It was night.

"And yet a beautiful night Through the open window of our house one saw the starlit sky; the moon covered the plain with silver; one heard no noise.

"Yes, oh, yes! one heard the fevered breathing of my poor mother.

"Suddenly in the distance, far, very far, a light noise sounded.