He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. He leaned forward, and looked into the eyes of the woman he loved, and it seemed to him that she sang back to him with a sudden note of something like passion breaking here and there through the gay mocking words which flowed with such effortless and seductive music from her lips. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. Had he not said so? Not that she wished him to marry her. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. Well, well; all he himself could do would be to watch this singular drama unroll.
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