"For a short, lusty man, 'tis wondrous how
active he is; and in dignity the King's Grace himself could not surpass
him."
"You were the noblest couple in the room, love," the lady cried.
"That pea-green doublet, slashed with orange-tawny, those ostrich
plumes, blue, red, and yellow, those party-colored hose and pink shoon,
became the noble baron wondrous well," Fatima acknowledged. "It must be
confessed that, though middle-aged, he hath all the agility of youth.
But alas, madam! The noble baron hath had nine wives already."
"And your cousin would give her eyes to become the tenth," the mother
replied.
"My cousin give her eyes!" Fatima exclaimed. "It's not much, I'm sure,
for she squints abominably." And thus the ladies prattled, as they
rode home at night after the great ball at the house of the Baron of
Barbazure.
The gentle reader, who has overheard their talk, will understand
the doubts which pervaded the mind of the lovely Fatima, and the
well-nurtured English maiden will participate in the divided feelings
which rent her bosom. 'Tis true, that on his departure for the holy
wars, Romane and Fatima were plighted to each other; but the folly of
long engagements is proverbial; and though for many months the faithful
and affectionate girl had looked in vain for news from him, her
admirable parents had long spoken with repugnance of a match which must
bring inevitable poverty to both parties.
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