But Eric was restless, he felt cramped in this garden of beauty; resentment began to grow in his heart against this fair being who played with him as a child plays with a toy. She lured him on, yet never did she satisfy the longing of his soul!
Every time that he extended his hand to tear the covering from her eyes, with a word or gesture she changed the current of his thoughts.
When he asked to be shown the road that would take him back whence he had come, the woman would laugh—the laugh he had begun to hate,—and cover his face with soft caresses which seemed to drain all his manhood and leave him without will or power to think.
Within his heart he made plans how he might escape. The sweet perfumes, the melting voices, the endless well-being, the tropical fruit he was ever feasting upon, wearied and sickened him; and yet he felt he could not leave this bewitching sorceress before he had seen the colour of her eyes.
But somehow, although he wished it with a fevered longing, he also dreaded the disappointment it might bring.
And there he lay in this enchanted garden eating his heart out with the longing for freedom, and yet unable to break through the silken bonds that held him as with chains of iron!
IX
L'espoir même a des portes closes;
Cette terre est pleine de choses
Dont nous ne voyons qu'un côte.
V. Hugo.