"Let us sit down on this piece of rock," Paul said. "I want to hear
why I am the Sleeping Beauty. It is so long since I read the story.
But wasn't it about a girl, not a man--and didn't she get wakened up
by a--kiss?"

"She did!" said the lady, leaning back against a tree behind her; "but
then it was just her faculties which were asleep, not her soul. Could
a kiss wake a soul?"

"I think so," Paul whispered. He was seated on a part of the rock
which jutted out a little lower than her resting-place, and he was so
close as to be almost touching her. He could look up under the brim of
that tantalising hat, which so often hid her from his view as they
walked. He was quivering with excitement at this moment, the result of
the thought of a kiss--and his blue eyes blazed with desire as they
devoured her face.

"Yes--it is so," said the lady, a low note in her voice. "Because
Huldebrand gave Undine a soul with a kiss."

"Tell me about it," implored Paul. "I am so ignorant. Who was
Huldebrand, and what did he do?"

So she began in a dreamy voice, and you who have read De la Motte
Fouque's dry version of this exquisite legend would hardly have
recognised the poetry and pathos and tender sentiment she wove round
those two, and the varied moods of Undine, and the passion of her
knight. And when she came to the evening of their wedding, when the
young priest had placed their hands together, and listened to their