other fashionable trifle is sufficient, at times, to disturb the domestic peace of whole families. Nothing diminished her happiness, but the grief of her kind mother.
Towards the evening, when the dance began, Brigitta exclaimed, “Oh my daughter, you might at this moment have been leading this dance! But you have turned away from fortune when she smiled on you, and now I shall not live to accompany you to the altar.”
“Confide in Heaven, my dear mother,” answered Mela, “as I must;—if it is ordained that I shall go to the altar, you will live to adorn me with the bridal garment, and, when the right suitor comes, my heart will soon assent.”
“Ah! child,” replied the prudent mother, “portionless maidens are not much sought after; they must accept those who will have them. Young men are, in our days, more selfish than otherwise; they only marry when it suits themselves, and never think of the bashfulness of others. The heavens are not favourable to you, the planets have been consulted, and they are seldom auspicious to those born as you were in April. Let us see what says the almanack? ‘Maidens born in this month bear kindly pleasant countenances, and are of a slender form, but they are changeable in their inclinations, like the weather, and must guard well the virgin mood. When a smiling suitor comes, let them not reject his offer.’ See how well that answers! The suitor has come, and you have rejected his offer, and none will come again.”
“Dear mother, heed not what the planet says! my heart whispers me that I ought to love and honour the man whom I wed; and if I find no such man, or am sought by none, then let me remain single. I can maintain myself by my own hands. I will learn to be both content and happy; and nurse you in your old age, as a good daughter ought. Yet, if the man of my heart should come, mother, oh! then bless us both; and inquire not whether he be great, honoured, and wealthy, but whether he is virtuous and good; and if he loves, and is beloved.”
“Love, my poor daughter, keeps but a scanty table; it is not enough to live upon.”
“But where love is, mother, there peace and content will abide; yes, and convert the simplest fare into luxuries too.”—So inexhaustible a topic kept the ladies awake as long as the fiddles continued to play, nor could Madame Brigitta help suspecting that Mela’s magnanimity, which, in the bloom of youth and beauty, made her hold riches in such slight estimation, must be owing to some secret attachment previously formed. She, moreover, suspected its object, though she had never before entertained the idea that the lint merchant in the narrow street occupied a place in her daughter’s heart. She had considered him merely in the light of an extravagant youth, who made a point of gallanting every young creature that came in his way. The prospect before her
