travelled, he knew how to treat women with more deference than the remainder of the Buduans. So turning towards his host's wife:

"Which will you have?" said he.

"Any one you like."

"'Hussein and Ayesha'?"

"No," said some. "Yes," added the others, without waiting for the lady of the house to have her choice.

"Then 'The Death of Fair Jurecevic's Lovers'?"

"No, that was an old story."

"Perhaps, 'The Loves of Adelin the Turk and Mary the Christian'?"

"They all knew it."

"Or, 'Marko Kraglievic and the Vila'?"

"No, leave Marko to the guzlari."

"Well, then, it must be 'The Story of Jella and the Macic.'"

"Oh!" said the gospodina, "I once heard it in my childhood, and now I only remember its name. Still, I have always had a longing to hear it again; therefore, do tell it."

Milos Bellacic swallowed another glass of slivovitz, leaving, however, a few drops at the bottom of his glass, which he spilt on the floor as a compliment to the Starescina, showing thereby that in his house there was not only enough and to spare, but even to be wasted. He then took a long pull at the amber mouthpiece of his long Marasca cherry pipe, let the smoke rise quietly and curl about his nose, and, after clearing his throat, began as follows:

THE STORY OF JELLA AND THE MACIC.

Once upon a time there lived in a village of Crivoscie an old man and his wife; they had one fair daughter and no more. This girl was beyond all doubt the prettiest maiden of the place. She was as beautiful as the rising sun, or the new moon, or as a Vila; so nothing more need be said about her good looks. All the young men of the village and of the neighbouring country were madly in love with her, though she never gave them the slightest encouragement.

Being now of a marriageable age, she was, of course, asked to every festivity. Still, being very demure, she would not go anywhere, as neither her father nor her mother, who were a sullen couple of stingy, covetous old fogeys, would accompany her.

At last her parents, fearing lest she might remain an old maid, and be a thorn rather than a comfort to them, insisted upon her being a little more sociable, and go out of an evening like the other girls. "Moreover, if some rich young man comes courting you, be civil to him," said the mother. "For there are still fools who will marry a girl for her pretty face," quoth the father. It was, therefore, decided that the very next time some neighbours gathered together to make merry, Jella should take part in the festivity. "For how was she ever to find the husband of her choice if she always remained shut up at home?" said the mother.

Soon afterwards, a feast in honour of some saint or other happened to be given at the house of one of their wealthy neighbours, so Jella decked herself out in her finest dress and went. She was really beautiful that evening, for she wore a gown of white wool, all embroidered in front with a wreath of gay flowers, then an over-dress of the same material, the sleeves of which were likewise richly stitched in silks of many colours. Her belt was of some costly Byzantine stuff, all purfled with gold threads. On her head she wore a red cap, the headgear of the young Crivosciane.

As she entered the room, all the young men flocked around her to invite her to dance the Kolo with them, and to whisper all kinds of pretty things to her. But she, blushing, refused them all, declaring that she would not dance, elbowed her way to a corner of the room, where she sat down quite alone. All the young men soon came buzzing around her, like moths round a candle, each one hoping to be fortunate enough to become her partner. Anyhow, when the music struck up, and the Kolo began, their toes were now itching, and one by one they slunk away, and she, to her great joy, and the still greater joy of the other girls, was left quite by herself.

While she was looking at the evolutions of the Kolo, she saw a young stranger enter the room. Although he wore the dress of the Kotor, he evidently was from some distant part of the country. His clothes—made out of the finest stuffs, richly braided and embroidered in gold—were trimmed with filigree buttons and bugles. The pas, or sash, he wore round his waist was of crimson silk, woven with gold threads; the wide morocco girdle—the pripasnjaca —was purfled with lovely arabesques; his princely weapons, studded with precious stones and damaskened, were numerous and costly. His pipe, stuck not in his girdle like his arms, but 'twixt his blue satin waistcoat—jacerma—and his shirt, had the hugest amber mouthpiece that man had ever seen; aye, the Czar himself could not possibly have a finer pipe. What young man, seeing that pipe with its silver mounting, adorned with coral and turquoises, could help breaking the Tenth Commandment? He was, moreover, as handsome as a Macic, aye, as winsome as Puck.

He came in the room, doffed his cap to greet the company like a well-bred young man, then set it pertly on his head again. After that, he went about chatting with the lads, flirting with the lassies, as if he had long been acquainted with them, like a youth accustomed to good company. He did not notice, however, poor Jella in her corner. He took no part in the dances, probably because, every Jack having found his Jill, there was nobody with whom he could dance.

The girls all looked slily at him, and many a one wished in her heart that she had not been so hasty in choosing her partner, nay, that she had remained a wallflower for that night.

At last the young stranger wended his steps towards that corner where Jella was sitting alone, moping. He no sooner caught sight of her than he went gracefully up, and, looking at her with a merry twinkle in his eyes, and a most mischievous smile upon his lips:

"And you, my pretty one? Don't you dance this evening?" he asked.

"I never dance, either this evening or any other."

"And why not?"

"Because there is not a single young man I care to dance with."

"Oh, Jella!" whispered the girls, "dance with him if he asks you; we should so much like to see how he dances."

"Then it would be useless asking you to dance the Kolo with me, I suppose?"

"Oh, Jella! dance with him," whispered the young men; "it would be an unheard-of rudeness to refuse dancing with a stranger who has no partner."

"Even if I did not care about dancing, I should do so for the sake of our village."

"Then you only dance with me that it might not be said: 'He was welcomed with the sour lees of wine'?"

"I dance with you because I choose to do so."

"Thank you, pretty one."

The two thereupon began to go through the maze of the Kolo, and, as he twisted her round, they both moved so gracefully, keeping time to the music, that they looked like feathery boughs swayed by the summer breeze.

About ten o'clock the dances came to an end, and every youth, having gone to thank his host for the pleasant evening he had passed, went off with his partner, laughing and chatting all the way.

"And you, my lovely one, where do you live?" asked the stranger of
Jella.

"In one of the very last houses of the village, quite at the end of the lane."

"Will you allow me to see you home?"

"If I am not taking you out of your way."