Time went by, and as the little maid grew up, her reflection grew down,
and at last she was quite a little woman of, I suppose, sixteen or
seventeen. I can only work for a couple of hours or so in the brightest
part of the day, so I had plenty of time on my hands in which to watch
her movements, and sufficient imagination to weave a little romance
about her, and to endow her with a beauty which, to a great extent, I
had to take for granted. I saw--or fancied that I could see--that she
began to take an interest in _my_ reflection (which, of course, she
could see as I could see hers); and one day, when it appeared to me that
she was looking right at it--that is to say when her reflection appeared
to be looking right at me--I tried the desperate experiment of nodding
to her, and to my intense delight her reflection nodded in reply. And so
our two reflections became known to one another.
It did not take me very long to fall in love with her, but a long time
passed before I could make up my mind to do more than nod to her every
morning, when the old woman moved me from my bed to the sofa at the
window, and again in the evening, when the little maid left the balcony
for that day.
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