In saying these words, the voice of the Bohemian had such an expression of sadness, and the sounds that he drew from his guzla were so melancholy, that Reine and Stephanette silently exchanged glances suffused with tears. The Bohemian continued without perceiving the emotion he had excited:
“It was night.
“And yet a beautiful night Through the open window of our house one saw the starlit sky; the moon covered the plain with silver; one heard no noise.
“Yes, oh, yes! one heard the fevered breathing of my poor mother.
“Suddenly in the distance, far, very far, a light noise sounded.
“It was like the soft and gentle echo of a voice singing in the sky.
“Soon a gentle breeze, burdened with the perfume of the citron-tree, wafted sounds more distinct.
“I was still holding the icy hand of my mother. I felt her tremble.
“This celestial voice approached—approached.
“The chords of a melodious instrument accompanied it, and gave it an inexpressible charm.