the dazzling whiteness of her skin. Her beautiful black hair was twisted
in plaits around the little dagger of chased silver, that has lately been
imported into Paris by that right of conquest which the pretty women of
Paris have over the fashions of all countries, like the English over the
sea.

Nisida was adored by her young friends, all the mothers had adopted her
with pride; she was the glory of the island. The opinion of her
superiority was shared by everyone to such a degree, that if some bold
young man, forgetting the distance which divided him from the maiden,
dared speak a little too loudly of his pretensions, he became the
laughing-stock of his companions. Even the past masters of tarentella
dancing were out of countenance before the daughter of Solomon, and did
not dare to seek her as a partner. Only a few singers from Amalfi or
Sorrento, attracted by the rare beauty of this angelic creature, ventured
to sigh out their passion, carefully veiled beneath the most delicate
allusions. But they seldom reached the last verse of their song; at
every sound they stopped short, threw down their triangles and their
mandolines, and took flight like scared nightingales.

One only had courage enough or passion enough to brave the mockery; this
was Bastiano, the most formidable diver of that coast. He also sang, but
with a deep and hollow voice; his chant was mournful and his melodies
full of sadness. He never accompanied himself upon any instrument, and
never retired without concluding his song. That day he was gloomier than
usual; he was standing upright, as though by enchantment, upon a bare and
slippery rock, and he cast scornful glances upon the women who were
looking at him and laughing. The sun, which was plunging into the sea
like a globe of fire, shed its light full upon his stern features, and
the evening breeze, as it lightly rippled the billows, set the fluttering