o
fight for a five-shilling stake, but merely found sixpence, having left
all my other money at the tent; which sixpence was just sufficient to pay
for the beer which Sylvester and myself were drinking, of whom I couldn't
hope to borrow anything--'poor as Sylvester' being a by-word amongst us.
So, not being able to back myself, I held my peace, and let the Gorgio
have it all his own way, who, after turning up his nose at me, went on
discoursing about the said invention, saying what a fund of profit it
would be to those who knew how to make use of it, and should have the
laying down of the new roads, and the shoeing of England with iron. And
after he had said this, and much more of the same kind, which I cannot
remember, he and his companion got up and walked away; and presently I
and Sylvester got up and walked to our camp; and there I lay down in my
tent by the side of my wife, where I had an ugly dream of having camped
upon an iron road; my tent being overturned by a flying vehicle; my
wife's leg injured; and all my affairs put into great confusion."

"Now, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro, "I have braided your hair in our
fashion: you look very beautiful, madam; more beautiful, if possible,
than before." Belle now rose, and came forward with her tire-woman. Mr.
Petulengro was loud in his applause, but I said nothing, for I did not
think Belle was improved in appearance by having submitted to the
ministry of Mrs. Petulengro's hand. Nature never intended Belle to
appear as a gypsy; she had made her too proud and serious. A more proper
part for her was that of a heroine, a queenly heroine,--that of Theresa
of Hungary, for example; or, better still, that of Brynhilda the
Valkyrie, the beloved of Sigurd, the serpent-killer, who incurred the
curse of Odin, because, in the tumult of spears, she sided with the young
king, and doomed the old warrior to die, to whom Odin had promised
victory.

Belle looked at me for a moment in silence; then turning to Mrs.
Petulengro, she said, "You have had your will with me; are you
satisfied?" "Quite so, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro, "and I hope you
will be so too, as soon as you have looked in the glass." "I have looked
in one already," said Belle; "and the glass does not flatter." "You mean
the face of the young rye," said Mrs. Petulengro; "never mind him, madam;
the young rye, though he knows a thing or two, is not a university, nor a
person of universal wisdom. I assure you, that