"Come!" they sang to him; "come and rest by the fountains! Come, drink nectar, and let us sing to you while you rest in the shade!"
"Nay," said Parsifal, simply. "I like you all, and would gladly Listen to your song; but I cannot tarry, for I am on an urgent errand."
"Come!" they pleaded; and the flowers seemed to weave in and out in a wonderful dance, nodding to him and beckoning him. "Come! Only a little while! Then you will start forth rested and make better speed."
Parsifal shook his head. "I cannot enter," he said, and turned to go, when another voice softer than the rest called his name.
"Who called me?" he asked, turning about.
"I called thee, lad," said the sweet voice.
He looked whence it came and saw a leafy bower opened wide, and in it sat a maiden fairer than ever heart could dream. It was Kundry, the ugly old witch, transformed by the power of the magician into this glorious vision.
"How did you know my name?" he asked, bluntly.
"I knew thy mother, lad, and thy father, too. Wouldst hear of them?"
"Yes, yes!" he cried eagerly. "Tell me of them!"