d corners, unused to observation,
suddenly gleam and blush in effulgent exposure,--like lovers whom the
unexpected turning on of a light has revealed kissing in the dark,--and
are as suddenly, unlike the lovers, left in their native shade again.
It was that rich afternoon sunlight that loves to flash into teacups as
though they were crocuses, that loves to run a golden finger along the
beautiful wrinkles of old faces and light up the noble hollows of
age-worn eyes; the sunlight that loves to fall with transfiguring beam
on the once dear book we never read, or, with malicious
inquisitiveness, expose to undreamed-of detection the undusted picture,
or the gold-dusted legs of remote chairs, which the poor housemaid has
forgotten.

So in Nicolete's bower it illuminated with strange radiancy the dainty
disorder of deserted lunch, made prisms out of the wine-glasses,
painted the white cloth with wedge-shaped rainbows, and flooded the
cavernous interiors of the half-eaten fowl with a pathetic yellow
torchlight.

Leaving that melancholy relic of carnivorous appetite, it turned its
bold gold gaze on Nicolete. No need to transfigure her! But, heavens!
how grandly her young face took the great kiss of the god! Then it
fell for a tender moment on the jaundiced page of my old Boccaccio,--a
rare edition, which I had taken from my knapsack to indulge myself with
the appreciation of a connoisseur. Next minute "the unobstructed beam"
was shining right into the knapsack itself, for all the world like one
of those little demon electric lights with which the dentist makes a
momentary treasure-cave of your distended jaws, flashing with startled
stalactite. At the same moment Nicolete's starry eyes took the same
direction; then there broke from her her lovely laughter, merry and
inextinguishable.

Once more, need I say, my petticoat had played me false--or should I
not say true? For there was its luxurious lace border, a thing for the
soft light of the boudoir, or the secret moonlight of love's permitted
eyes, alone to see, shamelessly brazening it out in this terrible
sunlight. Obviously there was but one way out of the dilemma, to
confess my pilgrimage to Nicolete, and reveal to her all the fanciful
absurdity to which, after all, I owed the sight of her.

"So that is why you pleaded so hard for that poor trout," she said,
when I had finished. "Well, you are a fairy prince indeed! Now, do you
know what the punishment of your nonsens