ine. What
matters to me the amulet! What matters to me my mother! 'Tis thou who
art my mother since I love thee! Phoebus, my beloved Phoebus, dost thou
see me? 'Tis I. Look at me; 'tis the little one whom thou wilt surely
not repulse, who comes, who comes herself to seek thee. My soul, my
life, my body, my person, all is one thing--which is thine, my captain.
Well, no! We will not marry, since that displeases thee; and then, what
am I? a miserable girl of the gutters; whilst thou, my Phoebus, art a
gentleman. A fine thing, truly! A dancer wed an officer! I was mad. No,
Phoebus, no; I will be thy mistress, thy amusement, thy pleasure, when
thou wilt; a girl who shall belong to thee. I was only made for that,
soiled, despised, dishonored, but what matters it?--beloved. I shall be
the proudest and the most joyous of women. And when I grow old or ugly,
Phoebus, when I am no longer good to love you, you will suffer me to
serve you still. Others will embroider scarfs for you; 'tis I, the
servant, who will care for them. You will let me polish your spurs,
brush your doublet, dust your riding-boots. You will have that pity,
will you not, Phoebus? Meanwhile, take me! here, Phoebus, all this
belongs to thee, only love me! We gypsies need only air and love."

So saying, she threw her arms round the officer's neck; she looked up
at him, supplicatingly, with a beautiful smile, and all in tears.
Her delicate neck rubbed against his cloth doublet with its rough
embroideries. She writhed on her knees, her beautiful body half naked.
The intoxicated captain pressed his ardent lips to those lovely African
shoulders. The young girl, her eyes bent on the ceiling, as she leaned
backwards, quivered, all palpitating, beneath this kiss.

All at once, above Phoebus's head she beheld another head; a green,
livid, convulsed face, with the look of a lost soul; near this face was
a hand grasping a poniard.--It was the face and hand of the priest; he
had broken the door and he was there. Phoebus could not see him. The
young girl remained motionless, frozen with terror, dumb, beneath that
terrible apparition, like a dove which should raise its head at the
moment when the hawk is gazing into her nest with its round eyes.

She could not even utter a cry. She saw the poniard descend upon
Phoebus, and rise again, reeking.

"Maledictions!" said the captain, and fell.

She fainted.

At the moment when her eyes closed, when all feeling vanished in her,