was pulsating through its graceful arc under the rhythmic, supple movements of a young girl. She was dressed in shining white and seemed like a water fairy, who had come up from the mysterious depths of a lake and, in the rays of the moon, was besporting herself in solitary play, full of longing and dreams. As she swung, she sang to herself in a low, melodious voice.
"It is the 'Haoufi,'" whispered the Frenchman, "a favorite song among the Tlemsen girls."
While he was still speaking, the nymph sprang down from the swing and began to dance through a pretty maze of dainty steps and of slow, graceful movements of the whole body. As she moved, she sang again, and our companion repeated for us one of the verses in French.
His mouth is the scarlet of henna;
His teeth are of shining ivory;
His neck is as a battle standard
After a victorious fight …
"The girl must certainly love a young man, who has never seen her without her haik," whispered Zofiette.
Our French friend, on hearing this, nodded his head knowingly and sang back to the girl these lines:
Your breast, Oh maiden, is a spirit—
It is of silver pure.
Your body is like the fleecy snow,
The snow which mantles the summit of Ghamdov.
The water fairy glanced quickly around, gave a soft cry of dismay and disappeared like a faint, intangible shadow of the night. The spring, which seemed throughout the song to have held its breath, began again to murmur, the
