Thereupon I went to Belle’s habitation, and informed her that Mr. and Mrs. Petulengro had paid us a visit of ceremony, and were awaiting her at the fire-place.  “Pray go and tell them that I am busy,” said Belle, who was engaged with her needle.  “I do not feel disposed to take part in any such nonsense.”  “I shall do no such thing,” said I; “and I insist upon your coming forthwith, and showing proper courtesy to your visitors.  If you do not, their feelings will be hurt, and you are aware that I cannot bear that people’s feelings should be outraged.  Come this moment, or—­” “Or what?” said Belle, half smiling.  “I was about to say something in Armenian,” said I.  “Well,” said Belle, laying down her work, “I will come.”  “Stay,” said I; “your hair is hanging about your ears, and your dress is in disorder; you had better stay a minute or two to prepare yourself to appear before your visitors, who have come in their very best attire.”  “No,” said Belle, “I will make no alteration in my appearance; you told me to come this moment, and you shall be obeyed.”  So Belle and I advanced towards our guests.  As we drew nigh Mr. Petulengro took off his hat, and made a profound obeisance to Belle, whilst Mrs. Petulengro rose from the stool, and made a profound curtsey.  Belle, who had flung her hair back over her shoulders, returned their salutations by bending her head, and after slightly glancing at Mr. Petulengro, fixed her large blue eyes full upon his wife.  Both these females were very handsome—­but how unlike!  Belle fair, with blue eyes and flaxen hair; Mrs. Petulengro with olive complexion, eyes black, and hair dark—­as dark as could be.  Belle, in demeanour calm and proud; the gypsy graceful, but full of movement and agitation.  And then how different were those two in stature!  The head of the Romany rawnie scarcely ascended to the breast of Isopel Berners.  I could see that Mrs. Petulengro gazed on Belle with unmixed admiration; so did her husband.  “Well,” said the latter, “one thing I will say, which is, that there is only one on earth worthy to stand up in front of this she, and that is the beauty of the world, as far as man flesh is concerned, Tawno Chikno; what a pity he did not come down!”

“Tawno Chikno,” said Mrs. Petulengro, flaring up; “a pretty fellow he to stand up in front of this gentlewoman, a pity he didn’t come, quotha? not at all, the fellow is a sneak, afraid of his wife.  He stand up against this rawnie! why, the look she has given me would knock the fellow down.”

“It is easier to knock him down with a look than with a fist,” said Mr. Petulengro; “that is, if the look comes from a woman:  not that I am disposed to doubt that this female gentlewoman is able to knock him down either one way or the other.  I have heard of her often enough, and have seen her once or twice, though not so near as now.  Well, ma’am, my wife and I are come to pay our respects to you; we are both glad to find that you have left off keeping company with Flaming Bosville, and have taken up with my pal; he is not very handsome, but a better—­”