“Here is more matter for our wits, than our legs;” observed the cool and prudent burgher.  “That was the form of my ward and niece, or the daughter of old Etienne Barberie has a double.—­Francis! didst thou not see the image of a woman at the window of the pavilion, or are we deceived by our wishes?  I have sometimes been deluded in an unaccountable manner, Captain Ludlow, when my mind has been thoroughly set on the bargain, in the quality of the goods; for the most liberal of us all are subject to mental weakness of this nature, when hope is alive!”

“Certainement, oui!” exclaimed the eager valet “Quel malheur to be oblige to go on la mer, when Mam’selle Alide nevair quit la maison!  J’etais sur, que nous nous trompions, car jamais la famille de Barberie love to be marins!”

“Enough, good Francis; the family of Barberie is as earthy as a fox.  Go and notify the idle rogues in my kitchen, that their master is at hand; and remember, that there is no necessity for speaking of all the wonders we have seen on the great deep.  Captain Ludlow, we will now join my dutiful niece, with as little fracas as possible.”

Ludlow eagerly accepted the invitation, and instantly followed the dogmatical and seemingly unmoved Alderman towards the dwelling.  As the lawn was crossed, they involuntarily paused, a moment, to look in at the open windows of the pavilion.

La belle Barberie had ornamented la Cour des Fees, with a portion of that national taste, which she inherited from her father.  The heavy magnificence that distinguished the reign of Louis XIV. had scarcely descended to one of the middling rank of Monsieur de Barberie, who had consequently brought with him to the place of his exile, merely those tasteful usages which appear almost exclusively the property of the people from whom he had sprung, without the encumbrance and cost of the more pretending fashions of the period.  These usages had become blended with the more domestic and comfortable habits of English, or what is nearly the same thing, of American life—­an union which, when it is found, perhaps produces the most just and happy medium of the useful and the agreeable.  Alida was seated by a small table of mahogany, deeply absorbed in the contents of a little volume that lay before her.  By her side stood a tea-service, the cups and the vessels of which were of the diminutive size then used, though exquisitely wrought, and of the most beautiful material.  Her dress was a negligee suited to her years; and her whole figure breathed that air of comfort, mingled with grace, which seems to be the proper quality of the sex, and which renders the privacy of an elegant woman so attractive and peculiar.  Her mind was intent on the book, and the little silver urn hissed at her elbow, apparently unheeded.

“This is the picture I have loved to draw,” half-whispered Ludlow, “when gales and storms have kept me on the deck, throughout many a dreary and tempestuous night!  When body and mind have been impatient of fatigue, this is the repose I have most coveted, and for which I have even dared to hope!”