"The brigantine!" repeated the Alderman, slowly "My niece can have nothing
to do aboard a dealer in contraband. That is to say, Alida Barberie is not
a trader."
"Alderman Van Beverout, if we wish to escape the contamination of vice,
its society must be avoided. There was one in the pavilion, of a mien and
assurance the past night, that might delude an angel. Ah! woman! woman!
thy mind is composed of vanities, and thy imagination is thy bitterest
foe!"
"Women and vanities!" echoed the amazed burgher. "My niece, the heiress of
old Etienne Marie de Barberie, and the sought of so many of honorable
names and respectable professions, to be a refugee with a rover!--always
supposing your opinions of the character of the brigantine to be just.
This is a conjecture too improbable to be true."
"The eye of a lover, Sir, may be keener than that of a guardian--call it
jealousy, if you will,--would to Heaven my suspicions were untrue!--but if
she be not there, where is she?"
The opinion of the Alderman seemed staggered. If la belle Barberie had not
yielded to the fascinations of that wayward, but seductive, eye and smile,
to that singular beauty of face, and to the secret and often irresistible
charm that encircles eminent personal attractions, when aided by mystery,
to what had she yielded, and whither had she fled?
These were reflections that now began to pass through the thoughts of the
Alderman, as they had already planted stings in the bosom of Ludlow.
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