IX.

The interview with Rose, or the coldness of the night, increased the effect of the wine to such an extent that the mischievous propensities of the young Prince got the upper hand of him.  Standing amidst a crowd of people, in the middle of the street, he blew so lustily on his horn that the women screamed, and the men gasped with fear.  He called the hour, and then shouted, at the top of his lungs: 

     The bus’ness of our lovely state
     Is stricken by the hand of fate—­
     Even our maids, both light and brown,
     Can find no sale in all the town;
     They deck themselves with all their arts,
     But no one buys their worn-out hearts.”

“Shame! shame!” cried several female voices from the window at the end of this complimentary effusion, which, however, was crowned with a loud laugh from the men.  “Bravo, watchman!” cried some; “Encore! encore!” shouted others.  “How dare you, fellow, insult ladies in the open street?” growled a young lieutenant, who had a very pretty girl on his arm.

“Mr. Lieutenant,” answered a miller, “unfortunately watchmen always tell the truth, and the lady on your arm is a proof of it.  Ha! young jade, do you know me? do you know who I am?  Is it right for a betrothed bride to be gadding at night about the streets with other men?  To-morrow your mother shall hear of this.  I’ll have nothing more to do with you!”

The girl hid her face, and nudged the young officer to lead her away.  But the lieutenant, like a brave soldier, scorned to retreat from the miller, and determined to keep the field.  He therefule made use of a full round of oaths, which were returned with interest, and a sabre was finally resorted to, with some flourishes; but two Spanish cudgels were threateningly held over the head of the lieutenant by a couple of stout townsmen, while one of them, who was a broad-shouldered beer-brewer, cried:  “Don’t make any more fuss about the piece of goods beside you—­she ain’t worth it.  The miller’s a good fellow, and what he says is true, and the watchman’s right too.  A plain tradesman can hardly venture to marry now.  All the women wish to marry above their station.  Instead of darning stockings, they read romances; instead of working in the kitchen, they run after comedies and concerts.  Their houses are dirty, and they are walking out, dressed like princesses; all they bring a husband as a dowry are handsome dresses, lace ribbons, intrigues, romances, and idleness!  Sir, I speak from experience; I should have married long since, if girls were not spoiled.”

The spectators laughed heartily, and the lieutenant slowly put back his sword, saying peevishly:  “It’s a little too much to be obliged to hear a sermon from the canaille.”

“What!  Canaille!” cried a smith, who held the second cudgel.  “Do you call those canaille who feed you noble idlers by duties and taxes?  Your licentiousness is the cause of our domestic discords, and noble ladies would not have so much cause to mourn if you had learned both to pray and to work.”