ponded to the deep things of life, and the stern passions of
potent humanity. Could a merry laugh lure her while he stood by? Was the
sunshine the natural atmosphere of this flower, that had bloomed under
his eye so sweetly and shed out its innocent fragrance, at the approach
of his solemn-pacing foot? He began to mirror before his mind's eye the
startled look of happy wonder with which she would greet his impassioned
glance, when released from whatever duties might be now pressing upon
her; she wandered into these rooms, to find him awaiting her, when
suddenly there was a stir in the throng, a pleased and excited rush, and
the large curtain which he had vaguely noticed hanging at one end of the
room, uplifted and--was it Paula? this coy, brilliant, saucy-eyed
Florentine maiden, stepping out from a bower of greenery, with finger on
her lip, and a backward glance of saucy defiance that seemed to people
the verdant walks behind her with gallant cavaliers, eager to follow
upon her footsteps? Yes; he could not be mistaken; there was but one
face like that in the world. It was Paula, but Paula with youth's
merriest glamour upon her, a glamour that had caught its radiant light
from other thoughts than those in which he had been engaged. He bowed
his head, and a shudder went through him like that which precedes the
falling knife of the executioner. Even the applause that greeted the
revelation of so much loveliness and alluring charm, passed over him
like a dream. He was battling with his first recognition of the
possibility of his being too late. Suddenly her voice was heard.

She was speaking aloud to herself, this Florentine maiden who had
outstripped her lover in the garden, but the tone was the same he had
heard beside his own hearthstone, and the archness that accompanied it
had frequently met and encouraged some cheerful expression of his own.
These are the words she uttered. Listen with him to the _naive_, half
tender, half pettish voice, and mark with his eyes the alternate lights
and shadows that flit across her cheek as she broodingly murmurs:

He is certainly a most notable gallant. His "Good day, lady!"
and his "Good even to you!" are flavored with the cream of
perfectest courtesy. But gallantry while it sits well upon a
man, does not make him one, any more than a feather makes the
cap it adorns. For a Tuscan he hath also a certain comeliness,
but then I have ever sworn, in good faith