eached the camp. It was in an open glade, where the ground was trampled
down, in some places blackened by fire, and covered with fragments of
coarse pottery, wooden bowls, bones, parings, etc. The gypsies were
there pell-mell--men, women and children, horses, dogs and wagons. The
men, lounging about in various attitudes, were smoking: all had a look
of careless nobility about them, an air of melancholy, and eyes which
burned with slumbering passion. Old women were cowering about the fires,
surrounded by children whose meagre limbs were frankly displayed to
view. Tall girls, with Oriental eyes, firm and polished cheeks, and
vigorous forms, stood facing the horizon, and were distinctly defined
against the blue of the sky. Some wore scarlet gowns, bodices covered
with metallic ornaments, embroidered chemisettes and a profusion of
glass trinkets. In the centre was one, taller by a head than her
companions, her face of a fine and delicate oval unknown amongst us,
with magnetic, disquieting eyes which suggested splendid vices; a black
turban confined her black locks; a chemisette of dazzling whiteness half
opened on her breast; she wore, as a necklace, twisted five or six times
about her neck, a long chaplet of yellow flowers, clusters of which she
held in her hands. The red rays of the setting sun flashed with
fantastic effect upon the scene: then night fell, and in the flickering
glare of the fires gleaming eyes, white teeth and mobile hands emerged
from the gloom.

Franz had expressed his wish to hear their music, but for a while all
was silent. Suddenly a strange, prolonged note vibrated through the air
like a sigh from the supernatural world; another followed; then after a
pause a majestic but sombre melody was developed. The sounds swelled
like an immense choral, with incomparable purity and nobleness, fraught
with memories of ruins and tombs, of lost liberty and love. Another
pause, and some strophes of unbridled gayety burst forth; then again the
principal phrase, detaching itself like a flower from its stem, among
myriads of winged notes, clusters of vaporous sounds, long spirals of
transparent _fioritures_. Still the violins grew bolder and more
impetuous. Franz rose from his seat while watching these men standing
with their violins pressed against their breasts, as if they were
pouring their life's blood into them: he felt oppressed with anguish,
when, by an ingenious inversion, the gloomy theme was transformed into