There was a maid who dwelt in the Tower of the Wolfsberg opposite, called the Tower of the Captain of the Guard.

And the maid's name was Elsa, or, as she was ordinarily called, "Christian's Elsa." She was a comely maid enough, and greatly taken notice of.

And when I went to my window to con over my task for Friar Laurence, there at the opposite window would be--strange that it should always he so--Christian's Elsa.

She was a little girl, short and plump, but with merry eyes and so bright a stain upon either cheek that it seemed as if she had been eating raspberry conserve, and had wiped her fingers upon the smiling plumpness there.
At any rate, as sure as ever I betook me to the window, there would be Christian's Elsa, busy with her needles.
And to tell truth I misliked it not greatly.

Why, indeed, should I?
For there is surely no harm in looking across twenty yards of space at a maid, and as little in the maid looking at you--that is, if neither of you come any nearer.