pale green that tingle. The rest of the street is as before, but now it seems a mere setting to this window, exactly the right deadness of tone and feeling to set off the brilliance of this bit. And then this patch of light appeared exactly at the right moment. A second later, the lights spring up in all the windows, and the character of the scene is changed. The little window would have a fresh relation to the other things in the street, but some singular beauty in its new form would surely appear. It must: it is inevitable. And yet it was only an accident that that light appeared when it did. Some one may have wanted to read and found it necessary to light the gas, but the street has nothing to do with that, nor has the little window. All that was necessary for it to preserve its reputation was a particular light at a particular moment behind the watery pane. So it happened—by accident of course: a beautiful accident.
