Like a lady of the highest quality, the beauteous queen of the dingle was subject to the vapours and to occasional fits of inexplicable weeping; but as a general rule she shared with Borrow himself a proud contempt for that mad puppy gentility, and her predominant characteristic, like his, was the simplicity that puzzled by reason of its directness and its purity. {52} That these qualities were not unaccompanied by a considerable amount of hauteur, is shown by her uncompromising rejection of the ceremonial advances made to her by that accomplished courtier, the man in black.

   “Lovely virgin,” said he, with a graceful bow and stretching out his
   hand, “allow me to salute your fingers.”

   “I am not in the habit of shaking hands with strangers,” said Belle.

   “I did not presume to request to shake hands with you,” said the man
   in black.  “I merely wished to be permitted to salute with my lips the
   extremities of your two forefingers.”

   “I never permit anything of the kind,” said Belle.  “I do not approve
   of such unmanly ways.”

His importunity is rebuked more forcibly upon another occasion, when the nymph bids the priest with asperity to “hold his mumping gibberish.”

The striking beauty of Belle, especially that of her blue eyes and flaxen hair, and the impressiveness of her demeanour, calm and proud, which compelled the similitude to a serious and queenly heroine, such as ’Queen Theresa of Hungary, or Brynhilda, the Valkyrie, the beloved of Sigurd, the serpent-killer,’ is emphasised by the contrast drawn between her and the handsome brunette Mrs. Petulengro, who is for the nonce subjugated by Isopel’s beauty, and craves the privilege of acting as her tire-woman.

Alas, as is so often the case in life, Lavengro and the reader are only just beginning to realise the beauty and the value of the “bellissima,” as the man in black calls her, when she is on the point of sinking beneath our horizon, passing away like the brief music of an aubade.

Rapidly, much too rapidly, do we approach that summer dawn when Belle, dressed neatly and plainly, her hair no longer plaited in Romany fashion or floating in the wind, but secured by a comb, uncovered no longer, but wearing a bonnet, her features very pale, allowed her cold hand to be wrung—­it was for the last time—­by the unconscious Rye.  The latter ascended to the plain and thence looked down towards the dingle.  “Isopel Berners stood at the mouth, the beams of the early morning sun shone full on her noble face and figure.  I waved my hands towards her, she slowly lifted up her right arm; I turned away, and never saw Isopel Berners again.”