lingered about his boyish lips, and lit up with a bright lustre his dark
woodland eyes.

After some time he rose from his seat, and leaning against the carved
penthouse of the chimney, looked round at the dimly-lit room. The walls
were hung with rich tapestries representing the Triumph of Beauty. A
large press, inlaid with agate and lapis-lazuli, filled one corner, and
facing the window stood a curiously wrought cabinet with lacquer panels
of powdered and mosaiced gold, on which were placed some delicate goblets
of Venetian glass, and a cup of dark-veined onyx. Pale poppies were
broidered on the silk coverlet of the bed, as though they had fallen from
the tired hands of sleep, and tall reeds of fluted ivory bare up the
velvet canopy, from which great tufts of ostrich plumes sprang, like
white foam, to the pallid silver of the fretted ceiling. A laughing
Narcissus in green bronze held a polished mirror above its head. On the
table stood a flat bowl of amethyst.

Outside he could see the huge dome of the cathedral, looming like a
bubble over the shadowy houses, and the weary sentinels pacing up and
down on the misty terrace by the river. Far away, in an orchard, a
nightingale was singing. A faint perfume of jasmine came through the
open window. He brushed his brown curls back from his forehead, and
taking up a lute, let his fingers stray across the cords. His heavy
eyelids drooped, and a strange languor came over him. Never before had
he felt so keenly, or with such exquisite joy, the magic and the mystery
of beautiful things.

When midnight sounded from the clock-tower he touched a bell, and his
pages entered and disrobed him with much ceremony, pouring rose-water
over his hands, and strewing flowers on his pillow. A few moments after