And so a week went by. But, though so little had seemed to happen, and though our walking record was shamefully modest, yet, imperceptible as the transition had been, we were, quite insensibly indeed, and unacknowledged, in a very different relation to each other than when we had started out from the Morning Star. In fact, to make no more words about it, I was head over heels in love with Nicolete, and I think, without conceit, I may say that Nicolete was rapidly growing rather fond of me. Apart from anything else, we were such excellent chums. We got along together as if indeed we had been two brothers, equable in our tempers and one in our desires. At last the feeling on my side became so importunate that I could no longer keep silence. We were seated together taking tea at a small lonely inn, whose windows looked out over a romantic little lake, backed by Salvator Rosa pine-woods. The sun was beginning to grow dreamy, and the whole world to wear a dangerously sentimental expression. I forget exactly what it was, but something in our talk had set us glowing, had touched tender chords of unexpected sympathy, and involuntarily I stretched out my hand across the corner of the table and pressed Nicolete's hand as it rested on the cloth. She did not withdraw it, and our eyes met with a steady gaze of love. "Nicolete," I said presently, when I could speak, "it is time for you to be going back home." "Why?" she asked breathlessly. "Because," I answered, "I must love you if you stay." "Would you then bid me go?" she said. "Nicolete," I said, "don't tempt me. Be a good girl and go home." "But supposing I don't want to go home," she said; "supposing--oh, supposing I love you too? Would you still bid me go?" "Yes," I said. "In that case it would be even more imperative." "Aucassin!" "It is true, it is true, dear Nicolete." "Then, Aucassin," she replied, almost sternly, in her great girlish love, "this is true also,--I love you. I have never loved, shall never love, any man but you!" "Nicolete!" "Aucassin!" There were no more words spoken between us for a full hour that afternoon. CHAPTER IX WRITTEN BY MOONLIGHT I knew deep down in my heart that it couldn't last, yet how deny myself these roses, while the opportunity of gathering them was mine!--the more so, as I believed it would do no harm to Nicolete. At all events, a day or two more or less of moonshine would make no matter either way. And so all next day we walked hand in hand through Paradise. It has been said by them of old time, and our fathers have told us, that the kiss of first love, the first kiss of the first woman we love, is beyond all kisses sweet; and true it is. But true is it also that no less sweet is the first kiss of the last woman we love.