the　picture　I　must　present　by　Sunday　evening！　　And　Saturday；　which
  was　almost　as　bad；　was　the　great　day　for　visitors。
  Those　who　came　to　our　market　were　of　all　qualities；　men　and　women；
  the　lean　and　the　stout；　the　plain　and　the　fairly　pretty。　　Sure；　if
  people　at　all　understood　the　power　of　beauty；　there　would　be　no
  prayers　addressed　except　to　Venus；　and　the　mere　privilege　of
  beholding　a　comely　woman　is　worth　paying　for。　　Our　visitors；　upon
  the　whole；　were　not　much　to　boast　of；　and　yet；　sitting　in　a　corner
  and　very　much　ashamed　of　myself　and　my　absurd　appearance；　I　have
  again　and　again　tasted　the　finest；　the　rarest；　and　the　most
  ethereal　pleasures　in　a　glance　of　an　eye　that　I　should　never　see
  again　…　and　never　wanted　to。　　The　flower　of　the　hedgerow　and　the
  star　in　heaven　satisfy　and　delight　us：　how　much　more　the　look　of
  that　exquisite　being　who　was　created　to　bear　and　rear；　to　madden
  and　rejoice；　mankind！
  There　was　one　young　lady　in　particular；　about　eighteen　or　nineteen；
  tall；　of　a　gallant　carriage；　and　with　a　profusion　of　hair　in　which
  the　sun　found　threads　of　gold。　　As　soon　as　she　came　in　the
  courtyard　（and　she　was　a　rather　frequent　visitor）　it　seemed　I　was
  aware　of　it。　　She　had　an　air　of　angelic　candour；　yet　of　a　high
  spirit；　she　stepped　like　a　Diana；　every　movement　was　noble　and
  free。　　One　day　there　was　a　strong　east　wind；　the　banner　was
  straining　at　the　flagstaff；　below　us　the　smoke　of　the　city　chimneys
  blew　hither　and　thither　in　a　thousand　crazy　variations；　and　away
  out　on　the　Forth　we　could　see　the　ships　lying　down　to　it　and
  scudding。　　I　was　thinking　what　a　vile　day　it　was；　when　she
  appeared。　　Her　hair　blew　in　the　wind　with　changes　of　colour；　her
  garments　moulded　her　with　the　accuracy　of　sculpture；　the　ends　of
  her　shawl　fluttered　about　her　ear　and　were　caught　in　again　with　an
  inimitable　deftness。　　You　have　seen　a　pool　on　a　gusty　day；　how　it
  suddenly　sparkles　and　flashes　like　a　thing　alive？　　So　this　lady's
  face　had　become　animated　and　coloured；　and　as　I　saw　her　standing；
  somewhat　inclined；　her　lips　parted；　a　divine　trouble　in　her　eyes；　I
  could　have　clapped　my　hands　in　applause；　and　was　ready　to　acclaim
  her　a　genuine　daughter　of　the　winds。　　What　put　it　in　my　head；　I
  know　not：　perhaps　because　it　was　a　Thursday　and　I　was　new　from　the
  razor；　but　I　determined　to　engage　her　attention　no　later　than　that
  day。　　She　was　approaching　that　part　of　the　court　in　which　I　sat
  with　my　merchandise；　when　I　observed　her　handkerchief　to　escape
  from　her　hands　and　fall　to　the　ground；　the　next　moment　the　wind　had
  taken　it　up　and　carried　it　within　my　reach。　　I　was　on　foot　at　once：
  I　had　forgot　my　mustard…coloured　clothes；　I　had　forgot　the　private
  soldier　and　his　salute。　　Bowing　deeply；　I　offered　her　the　slip　of
  cambric。
  'Madam；'　said　I；　'your　handkerchief。　　The　wind　brought　it　me。'
  I　met　her　eyes　fully。
  'I　thank　you；　sir；'　said　she。
  'The　wind　brought　it　me；'　I　repeated。　　'May　I　not　take　it　for　an
  omen？　　You　have　an　English　proverb；　〃It's　an　ill　wind　that　blows
  nobody　good。〃'
  'Well；'　she　said；　with　a　smile；　'〃One　good　turn　deserves　another。〃
  I　will　see　what　you　have。'
  She　followed　me　to　where　my　wares　were　spread　out　under　lee　of　a
  piece　of　cannon。
  'Alas；　mademoiselle！'　said　I；　'I　am　no　very　perfect　craftsman。
  This　is　supposed　to　be　a　house；　and　you　see　the　chimneys　are　awry。
  You　may　call　this　a　box　if　you　are　very　indulgent；　but　see　where　my
  tool　slipped！　　Yes；　I　am　afraid　you　may　go　from　one　to　another；　and
  find　a　flaw　in　everything。　　FAILURES　FOR　SALE　should　be　on　my
  signboard。　　I　do　not　keep　a　shop；　I　keep　a　Humorous　Museum。'　　I
  cast　a　smiling　glance　about　my　display；　and　then　at　her；　and
  instantly　became　grave。　　'Strange；　is　it　not；'　I　added；　'that　a
  grown　man　and　a　soldier　should　be　engaged　upon　such　trash；　and　a
  sad　heart　produce　anything　so　funny　to　look　at？'
  An　unpleasant　voice　summoned　her　at　this　moment　by　the　name　of
  Flora；　and　she　made　a　hasty　purchase　and　rejoined　her　party。
  A　few　days　after　she　came　again。　　But　I　must　first　tell　you　how　she
  came　to　be　so　frequent。　　Her　aunt　was　one　of　those　terrible　British
  old　maids；　of　which　the　world　has　heard　much；　and　having　nothing
  whatever　to　do；　and　a　word　or　two　of　French；　she　had　taken　what　she
  called　an　INTEREST　IN　THE　FRENCH　PRISONERS。　　A　big；　bustling；　bold
  old　lady；　she　flounced　about　our　market…place　with　insufferable
  airs　of　patronage　and　condescension。　　She　bought；　indeed；　with
  liberality；　but　her　manner　of　studying　us　through　a　quizzing…glass；
  and　playing　cicerone　to　her　followers；　acquitted　us　of　any
  gratitude。　　She　had　a　tail　behind　her　of　heavy；　obsequious　old
  gentlemen；　or　dull；　giggling　misses；　to　whom　she　appeared　to　be　an
  oracle。　　'This　one　can　really　carve　prettily：　is　he　not　a　quiz　with
  his　big　whiskers？'　she　would　say。　　'And　this　one；'　indicating
  myself　with　her　gold　eye…glass；　'is；　I　assure　you；　quite　an
  oddity。'　　The　oddity；　you　may　be　certain；　ground　his　teeth。　　She
  had　a　way　of　standing　in　our　midst；　nodding　around；　and　addressing
  us　in　what　she　imagined　to　be　French：　'BIENNE；　HOMMES！　　CA　VA
  BIENNE？'　　I　took　the　freedom　to　reply　in　the　same　lingo：　BIENNE；
  FEMME！　CA　VA　COUCI…COUCI　TOUT　D'MEME；　LA　BOURGEOISE！'　　And　at　that；
  when　we　had　all　laughed　with　a　little　more　heartiness　than　was
  entirely　civil；　'I　told　you　he　was　quite　an　oddity！'　says　she　in
  triumph。　　Needless　to　say；　these　passages　were　before　I　had
  remarked　the　niece。
  The　aunt　came　on　the　day　in　question　with　a　following　rather　more
  than　usually　large；　which　she　manoeuvred　to　and　fro　about　the
  market　and　lectured　to　at　rather　more　than　usual　length；　and　with
  rather　less　than　her　accustomed　tact。　　I　kept　my　eyes　down；　but
  they　were　ever　fixed　in　the　same　direction；　quite　in　vain。　　The
  aunt　came　and　went；　and　pulled　us　out；　and　showed　us　off；　like
  caged　monkeys；　but　the　niece　kept　herself　on　the　outskirts　of　the
  crowd　and　on　the　opposite　side　of　the　courtyard；　and　departed　at
  last　as　she　had　come；　without　a　sign。　　Closely　as　I　had　watched
  her；　I　could　not　say　her　eyes　had　ever　rested　on　me　for　an　instant；
  and　my　heart　was　overwhelmed　with　bitterness　and　blackness。　　I　tore
  out　her　detested　image；　I　felt　I　was　done　with　her　for　ever；　I
  laughed　at　myself　savagely；　because　I　had　thought　to　please；　when　I
  lay　down　at　night　sleep　forsook　me；　and　I　lay；　and　rolled；　and
  gloated　on　her　charms；　and　cursed　her　insensibility；　for　half　the
  night。　　How　trivial　I　thought　her！　and　how　trivial　her　sex！　　A　man
  might　be　an　angel　or　an　Apollo；　and　a　mustard…coloured　coat　would
  wholly　blind　them　to　his　merits。　　I　was　a　prisoner；　a　slave；　a
  contemned　and　despicable　being；　the　butt　of　her　sniggering
  countrymen。　　I　would　take　the　lesson：　no　proud　daughter　of　my　foes
  should　have　the　chance　to　mock　at　me　again；　none　in　the　future
  should　have　the　chance　to　think　I　had　looked　at　her　with
  admiration。　　You　cannot　imagine　any　one　of　a　more　resolute　and
  independent　spirit；　or　whose　bosom　was　more　wholly　mailed　with
  patriotic　arrogance；　than　I。　　Before　I　dropped　asleep；　I　had
  remembered　all　the　infamies　of　Britain；　and　debited　them　in　an
  overwhelming　column　to　Flora。
  The　next　day；　as　I　sat　in　my　place；　I　became　conscious　there　was
  some　one　standing　near；　and　behold；　it　was　herself！　　I　kept　my
  seat；　at　first　in　the　confusion　of　my　mind；　later　on　from　policy；
  and　she　stood；　and　leaned　a　little　over　me；　as　in　pity。　　She　was
  very　still　and　timid；　her　voice　was　low。　　Did　I　suffer　in　my
  captivity？　she　asked　me。　　Had　I　to　complain　of　any　hardship？
  'Mademoiselle；　I　have　not　learned　to　complain；'　said　I。　　'I　am　a
  soldier　of　Napoleon。'
  She　sighed。　　'At　least　you　must　regret　LA　FRANCE；'　said　she；　and
  coloured　a　little　as　she　pronounced　the　words；　which　she　did　with　a
  pretty　strangeness　of　accent。
  'What　am　I　to　say？'　I　replied。　　'If　you　were　carried　from　this
  country；　for　which　you　seem　so　wholly　suited；　where　the　very　rains
  and　winds　seem　to　become　you　like　ornaments；　would　you　regret；　do
  you　think？　　We　must　surely　all　regret！　the　son　to　his　mother；　the
  man　to　his　country；　these　are　native　feelings。'
  'You　have　a　mother？'　she　asked。
  'In　heaven；　mademoiselle；'　I　answered。　　'She；　and　my　father　also；
  went　by　the　same　road　to　heaven　as　so　many　others　of　the　fair　and
  brave：　they　followed　their　queen　upon　the　scaffold。　　So；　you　see；　I
  am　not　so　much　to　be　pitied　in　my　prison；'　I　continued：　'there　are
  none　to　wait　for　me；　I　am　alone　in　the　world。　　'Tis　a　different
  case；　for　instance；　with　yon　poor　fellow　in　the　cloth　cap。　　His　bed
  is　next　to　mine；　and　in　the　night　I　hear　him　sobbing　to　himself。
  He　has　a　tender　character；　full　of　tender　and　pretty　sentiments；
  and　in　the　dark　at　night；　and　sometimes　by　day　when　he　can　get　me
  apart　with　him；　he　laments　a　mother　a