The cigars were at once dropped—­the window was even almost completely closed for greater security—­and we began to watch.

This was not, I know, quite discreet, but, as the devil willed it, we were young bachelors, all five of us, and then, after all, dear reader, would not you have done the same?

When the song was concluded, the singer rose.  It was very hot and her garment must have been very thin, for the light, which was at the farther end of the room, shone through the fabric.  It was one of those long robes which fall to the feet, and which custom has reserved for night wear.  The upper part is often trimmed with lace, the sleeves are wide, the folds are long and flowing, and usually give forth a perfume of ambergris or violet.  But perhaps you know this garment as well as I. The fair one drew near the looking-glass, and it seemed to us that she was contemplating her face; then she raised her hands in the air, and, in the graceful movement she made, the sleeve, which was unbuttoned and very loose, slipped from her beautifully rounded arm, the outline of which we distinctly perceived.

“The devil!” said Paul, in a stifled voice, but he could say no more.

The songstress then gathered up her hair, which hung very low, in her two hands and twisted it in the air, just as the washerwomen do.  Her head, which we saw in profile, inclined a little forward, and her shoulders, which the movement of her arms threw back, presented a more prominent and clear outline.

“Marble, Parian marble!” muttered Paul.  “O Cypris!  Cytherea!  Paphia!”

“Be quiet, you donkey!”

It really seemed as if the flame of the candle understood our appreciation and ministered specially to our admiration.  Placed behind the fair songstress, it illuminated her so perfectly that the garment with the long folds resembled those thin vapors which veil the horizon without hiding it, and in a word, the most inquisitive imagination, disarmed by so much courtesy, was ready to exclaim, “That is enough!”

Soon the fair one moved forward toward her bed, sat down in a very low armchair, in which she stretched herself out at her ease, and remained for some moments, with her hands clasped over her head and her limbs extended.  Just then midnight struck; we saw her take her right leg slowly and cross it over her left, when we perceived that she had not yet removed her shoes and stockings.

But what is the use of asking any more about it?  These recollections trouble me, and, although they have fixed themselves in my mind-very firmly indeed, I can assure you—­I feel an embarrassment mingled with modesty at relating all to you at length.  Besides, at the moment she turned down the clothes, and prepared, to get into bed, the light went out.