“I don’t know; unless Francis I. was right,” he said calmly,—“‘Souvent femme varie.’”
CHAPTER VIII.
ENDYMION.
Oh, goddess wise,
Disdainful of the sultry sun,
Thou waitest till his course is run
Then stealing where Endymion
In slumber lies,
With am’rous sighs
Awake him in that secret nest,
All drowsy with enchanted rest,