“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.  They had suffered, ’tis true, the engagement to subside, hostile as they ever were to it; but when on the death of the ninth lady of Barbazure, the noble baron remarked Fatima at the funeral, and rode home with her after the ceremony, her prudent parents saw how much wiser, better, happier for their child it would be to have for life a partner like the baron, than to wait the doubtful return of the penniless wanderer to whom she was plighted.

Ah! how beautiful and pure a being! how regardless of self! how true to duty! how obedient to parental command, is that earthly angel, a well-bred woman of genteel family!  Instead of indulging in splenetic refusals or vain regrets for her absent lover, the exemplary Fatima at once signified to her excellent parents her willingness to obey their orders; though she had sorrows (and she declared them to be tremendous), the admirable being disguised them so well, that none knew they oppressed her.  She said she would try to forget former ties, and (so strong in her mind was duty above every other feeling!—­so strong may it be in every British maiden!) the lovely girl kept her promise.  “My former engagements,” she said, packing up Romane’s letters and presents, (which, as the good knight was mortal poor, were in sooth of no great price)—­“my former engagements I look upon as childish follies;—­my affections are fixed where my dear parents graft them—­on the noble, the princely, the polite Barbazure.  ’Tis true he is not comely in feature, but the chaste and well-bred female knows how to despise the fleeting charms of form.  ’Tis true he is old; but can woman be better employed than in tending her aged and sickly companion?  That he has been married is likewise certain—­but ah, my mother! who knows not that he must be a good and tender husband, who, nine times wedded, owns that, he cannot be happy without another partner?”