“Leave off, Coman,” said she; “thou art breaking my heart. Thou knowest I do not love thee; but I have sworn to thee never to belong to that other. Leave off, Coman; be sensible!”
But Coman played on, now merrily, as though he would have laughed, and now in so sad and melting a strain, that the nightingale made answer from the depths of the dewy valley. Nearer and nearer drew the nightingale; Jalomitza could see it in the moonlight, how it came and settled above Coman’s head, and sang with the flute. Then it flew off, still uttering its sweet, entrancing note, and Jalomitza followed it the whole night through, without knowing whither she went. Coman too, with his flute, followed the wonderful bird through the dewy valley, along by the edge of the stream.
Jalomitza followed it the whole night through, without knowing whither she went.
Morning broke, and Jalomitza smote her hands upon her head in terror: “Where am I? I am far away from home, and this place is strange to me. Coman, where are we? I am affrighted! That bird was Bucur!”
Coman gave no answer, but only played a merry dance. Then a horse came galloping towards them over the meadow, and circled about the maiden, offering her his back to mount, and rubbing his head against her.
“Ah me!” she cried, “I know the dread one again! If I were but a bird and could flee away!”
She had scarcely said this before she was flying away in the shape of a dove, far away into the dewy morning.
But thereupon the horse was changed into a hawk, that shot down upon her from a giddy height, and bore her away in his talons toward the mountains.
“Ah, would I were a flower down in the meadow!” thought the terrified maiden; and the next instant she was growing beside the stream, a blue forget-me-not; but then the hawk became a butterfly, and circled about the flower, settling upon it, and swinging with it to and fro.