“’Tis the beauty of the sunset, master. It seems to warm my heart. Never have I seen one like to it in glory. Who could look and not be comforted?”
And, in truth, a radiant smile lit up the old man’s suffering face as he gazed on the flaming splendours of the western sky. Anselm turned and looked where the beggar pointed, but he could see nothing that seemed worth the turning of the head, and with a shrug of the shoulders he rode home.
Now Jasmine, rejoicing that Anselm would share her feasting, arrayed herself that she might look her fairest for their banquet. She brushed her red-gold hair until it shone, and gazed at herself in the mirror until her beauty glowed. Then she attired herself in a dress of dragon-flies’ wings, covered all over with hearts made of tiny little diamonds like dewdrops.
“Never, never have I looked so fair. When Anselm sees me he will love me more than ever. How joyfully we shall feast together, and how glad am I that he will no longer want me to laugh at the things he says! I shall love him far more without his Sense of Humour.”
Her heart beat as she heard footsteps hastening up the stairs. Radiant with excitement in burst Anselm. “I’m rich!” he cried. “Rich! rich! Rejoice with me, Jasmine.”
Grey disappointment crushed into Jasmine’s heart, for not one word did her husband say of her especial beauty or her wonderful dress.
“There’s nothing like wealth!” he cried. “How did we ever endure our poverty? And fancy, I met a beggar-man, who said he was cheerful because he looked at the sunset! Ha! ha! ha!”
“Why do you laugh, Anselm? Have you then not sold your Sense of Humour? How came you then by that purse?”
“No. I may still laugh. I have but parted with my Sense of Beauty.”
“Your Sense of Beauty?” echoed Jasmine, icy fear entering her heart. “Is that why your eyes no longer seek my face?”