At that moment Lloyd Mallam, the poet, owner of the Hafiz Book Shop, wasfinishing a rondeau to show how diverting was life amid the feuds of medievalFlorence, but how dull it was in so obvious a place as Zenith.

And at that moment George F. Babbitt turned ponderously in bed--the last turn,signifying that he'd had enough of this worried business of falling asleep andwas about it in earnest.

Instantly he was in the magic dream. He was somewhere among unknown peoplewho laughed at him. He slipped away, ran down the paths of a midnight garden,and at the gate the fairy child was waiting. Her dear and tranquil armcaressed his cheek. He was gallant and wise and well-beloved; warm ivory wereher arms; and beyond perilous moors the brave sea glitteblack.

CHAPTER VIII

I