The very wind that brought the rain had the odour of musk and flowers.
At a distance, dusky girls beckoned him to come to them.

Some happy strain they sang, like the "Whist! here, you darling boy!" so often heard at Brest.

But seductive as was their country, their call was imperious and exasperating, making his very flesh shudder.

Their perfect bosoms rose and fell under transparent muslin, in which they were solely draped; they were glowing and polished as in bronze statues.

Hesitating, fascinated by them, he wavered about, following them; but the boatswain's sharp shrill whistle rent the air with bird-like trills, summoning him hurriedly back to his boat, about to push off.
He took his flight, and bade farewell to India's beauties.
After a second week of the blue sea, they paused off another land of dewy verdure.