your name; I love your sword. Draw your sword, Phœbus, that I may see it."
"Child!" said the captain, and he unsheathed his sword with a smile.
The gipsy looked at the hilt, the blade; examined the cipher on the guard with adorable curiosity, and kissed the sword, saying,—
"You are the sword of a brave man. I love my captain."
Phœbus again profited by the opportunity to impress upon her beautiful bent neck a kiss which made the young girl straighten herself up as scarlet as a poppy. The priest gnashed his teeth over it in the dark.
"Phœbus," resumed the gypsy, "let me talk to you. Pray walk a little, that I may see you at full height, and that I may hear your spurs jingle. How handsome you are!"
The captain rose to please her, chiding her with a smile of satisfaction,—
"What a child you are! By the way, my charmer, have you seen me in my archer's ceremonial doublet?"
"Alas! no," she replied.
"It is very handsome!"
Phœbus returned and seated himself beside her, but much closer than before.
"Listen, my dear—"
The gypsy gave him several little taps with her pretty hand on his mouth, with a childish mirth and grace and gayety.
"No, no, I will not listen to you. Do you love me? I want you to tell me whether you love me."
"Do I love thee, angel of my life!" exclaimed the captain, half kneeling." My body, my blood, my soul, all are thine; all are for thee. I love thee, and I have never loved any one but thee."
The captain had repeated this phrase so many times, in many similar conjunctures, that he delivered it all in one breath, without committing a single mistake. At this passionate declaration, the gypsy raised to the dirty ceiling which served for the skies a glance full of angelic happiness.
