Without taking her eyes from his face, and without speaking, she closed the book she had held on her knee, and laid it beside her upon a low table.

The Wanderer did not avoid her gaze, for he had nothing to conceal, nor any sense of timidity.

He was an intruder upon the privacy of one whom he did not know, but he was ready to explain his presence and to make such amends as courtesy required, if he had given offence.
The heavy odours of the flowers filled his nostrils with an unknown, luxurious delight, as he stood there, gazing into the lady's eyes; he fancied that a gentle breath of perfumed air was blowing softly over his hair and face out of the motionless palms, and the faint plashing of the hidden fountain was like an exquisite melody in his ears.

It was good to be in such a place, to look on such a woman, to breathe such odours, and to hear such tuneful music.

A dreamlike, half-mysterious satisfaction of the senses dulled the keen self-knowledge of body and soul for one short moment.