"The Austrians are charming," allowed the lady, "but they err the
other way; they have not enough common sense, they are only great
gentlemen. Also, they are naturally awake, whereas you English are
naturally asleep, and you yourself are the Sleeping Beauty, Paul."
They had climbed up the path now some two hundred feet, and all around
them were stripling beeches of an unnaturally exquisite green, as
fresh and pure and light almost as leaves of the forced lily of the
valley.
The whole world throbbed with youth and freshness, and here and there,
wide of the path, by a mossy stone, a gentian raised its azure head,
"small essences of sky;" the lady called them.
"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.
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