Opposite to this lady, and with her face fully tamed to me, was a kindly-looking, fat motherly woman, with light-coloured hair, not in the best order. She was hot and scarlet with exercise, being perhaps too stout for the steep steps of the fortress; and in one hand she held a handkerchief, with which from time to time she wiped her brow. In the other hand she held one of the extremities of my friend’s property, feeling—good, careful soul!—what was the texture of the cloth. As she did so, I could see a glance of approbation pass across her warm features. I liked that lady’s face, in spite of her untidy hair, and felt that had she been alone my friend would not have been injured. On either side of her there stood a flaxen-haired maiden, with long curls, large blue eyes, fresh red cheeks, an undefined lumpy nose, and large good-humoured mouth. They were as like as two peas, only that one was half an inch taller than the other; and there was no difficulty in discovering, at a moment’s glance, that they were the children of that over-heated matron who was feeling the web of my friend’s cloth. But the principal figure was she who held the centre place in the group. She was tall and thin, with fierce-looking eyes, rendered more fierce by the spectacles which she wore; with a red nose as I said before; and about her an undescribable something which quite convinced me that she had never known—could never know—aught of the comforts of married life. It was she who held the scissors and the black garments. It was she who had given that unkind cut. As I looked at her she whisked herself quickly round from one companion to the other, triumphing in what she had done, and ready to triumph further in what she was about to do. I immediately conceived a deep hatred for that Queen of the Harpies. “Well, I suppose they can’t be wanted again,” said the mother, rubbing her forehead. “Oh dear no!” said she of the red nose. “They are relics!” I thought to leap forth; but for what purpose should I have leaped? The accursed scissors had already done their work; and the symmetry, nay, even the utility of the vestment was destroyed. “General Chassé wore a very good article;—I will say that for him,” continued the mother. “Of course he did!” said the Queen Harpy. “Why should he not, seeing that the country paid for it for him? Well, ladies, who’s for having a bit?” “Oh my! you won’t go for to cut them up,” said the stout back. “Won’t I,” said the scissors; and she immediately made another incision. “Who’s for having a bit? Don’t all speak at once.” “I should like a morsel for a pincushion,” said flaxen-haired Miss No. 1, a young lady about nineteen, actuated by a general affection for all sword-bearing, fire-eating heroes. “I should like to have something to make me think of the poor general!”