"Will he deign me?" wondered meek Angelica. "This widow," thought
Geoffrey, "is belike no widow at all, but a modest wife with a yea for
no man but her lord." Head to head they took counsel, cudgelled their
wits for some proper vantage. Of a sudden, Geoffrey clapped hand to
thigh. Student of Boccaccio, Heveletius, and other sages, he had the
clue in his palm. A whisper from him, a nod from Angelica, and the
twain withdrew from the box into the corridor without.
There, back to back, they disrobed swiftly, each tossing to other
every garment as it was doffed. Then a flurried toilet, and a
difficult, for the man especially; but hotness of desire breeds
dexterity. When they turned and faced each other, Angelica was such
a boy as Aladdin would not spurn as page, Geoffrey such a girl as the
widow might well covet as body-maid.
Out they hied under the stars, and sought way to the postern whereby
the mummers would come when their work were done. Thereat they
stationed themselves in shadow. A bitter night, with a lather of snow
on the cobbles; but they were heedless of that: love and their dancing
hearts warmed them.
They waited long. Strings of muffled figures began to file out, but
never an one like to Aladdin or the Widow. Midnight tolled.
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