But in the midst of all his power and splendor there was a domestic
grief which deeply afflicted the princely Barbazure. His lovely ladies
died one after the other. No sooner was he married than he was a
widower; in the course of eighteen years no less than nine bereavements
had befallen the chieftain. So true it is, that if fortune is a
parasite, grief is a republican, and visits the hall of the great and
wealthy as it does the humbler tenements of the poor.
*****
"Leave off deploring thy faithless, gad-about lover," said the Lady of
Chacabacque to her daughter, the lovely Fatima, "and think how the noble
Barbazure loves thee! Of all the damsels at the ball last night, he had
eyes for thee and thy cousin only."
"I am sure my cousin hath no good looks to be proud of!" the admirable
Fatima exclaimed, bridling up. "Not that I care for my Lord of
Barbazure's looks. MY heart, dearest mother, is with him who is far
away!"
"He danced with thee four galliards, nine quadrilles, and twenty-three
corantoes, I think, child," the mother said, eluding her daughter's
remark.
"Twenty-five," said lovely Fatima, casting her beautiful eyes to the
ground. "Heigh-ho! but Romane danced them very well!"
"He had not the court air," the mother suggested.
"I don't wish to deny the beauty of the Lord of Burbazure's dancing,
mamma," Fatima replied.
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