to the
Duke and the bride. She kept up an earnest conversation with her
daughter at the same time, who, however, did not appear to heed much
what she said. Neither did she seem to be interested in the train of
females with their rich dresses, her anxiety being simply to get a
glimpse of the bride. As she approached, the young girl's cheeks
assumed a deeper red; her red bodice rose and sunk violently, her
beating heart appearing likely to break the silver chain with which it
was laced. She looked stedfastly at Bertha, and was apparently
surprised at the transcendant beauty of the bride, which caused her an
involuntary deep sigh. "That's her!" she cried, with peculiar emphasis,
hastily concealing her face behind her mother from the gaze of the
people about her, who looked astonished at her exclamation.

"Yes, that's her, Barbelle; she is wonderful pretty," whispered the
round matron to her daughter, and made a low curtsey; "but now look out
for the gentleman."

The girl did not appear to require that piece of advice, for her
attention had been long directed to the side whence he was to come. "He
comes, he comes!" she heard her neighbours say, "that's him in the
white vest and blue mantle, just before the Duke." She saw him; one
look only did she dare to cast at him; the blush on her cheek vanished;
she trembled, and a tear fell upon her red bodice. When he had passed,
she ventured to raise her head again, and look towards him; but it was
with an expression of countenance that appeared to indicate more than
mere admiration or curiosity.

The procession having by this time entered the church, the spectators
crowded to the doors to get in; and in a moment the place which they
had occupied was empty. The countrywoman, however, still remained
looking at the smart dressed townsfolks, in admiration of their brocade
caps, jackets embroidered in gold, and short petticoats. The sight of
so much finery awakened in her mind the desire of possessing a dress of
the same splendour and shew, only she thought she would not have it cut
so low about the neck and shoulders.

Upon turning round, she was startled to see her pretty child concealing
her blooming face under her hands. She could not conceive what had
happened to the girl; and taking her by both hands, and pulling them
down, she observed her weeping most bitterly: "What ails you,
Barbelle?" she said, somewhat angrily, but still not without interest,
"what makes you cry? did'n