the blue space above. There was not sufficient wind to move the
lightest twigs of the willows, and the surface of the water
was glistening and placid as a mirror, only disturbed, here and
there, when some tiny gold-fish leaped for an instant into the
sunshine. The trees and grassy banks were reflected so distinctly
that it was impossible to tell where the real world left off, and
the land of dreams began. Ju-Kiouan was amusing herself watching
the beauteous water-picture when her eyes fell upon that portion
of the lake, near the wall, where, with all the clearness of
reality, was the reflection of the pavilion on the opposite
shore.

She had never noticed it before, and what was her surprise to
behold an exact reproduction of the one where she was standing,
the gilded roof, the red and black pillars, and all the beauteous
drapery about the doors. She would have been able to read the
inscription upon the tablets, had they not been reversed. But
what surprised her more than all was to see, leaning on the
balcony, a figure which, if it had not come from the other side
of the lake, she would have taken for her own reflection. It was
the mirrored image of Tchin-Sing. At first she took it for the
reflection of a girl, as he was dressed in robes according to the
fashion of the time. As the heat was intense, he had thrown off
his student's cap, and his hair fell about his fresh, beardless
face. But soon Ju-Kiouan recognized, from the violent beating
of her heart, that the reflection in the water was not that of a
young girl.

Until then she had believed that the earth contained no being
created for her, and had often indulged in pensive revery over