“And is it permitted for your sex to visit those places of religious retirement?” asked Alida. “I come of a race that pays little deference to monastic life, for we are refugees from the severity of Louis; but yet I never heard my father charge these females with being so regardless of their vows.” “The fact was so repeated to me; for, surely, my sex are not admitted to traffic, directly, with the modest sisters;” (a smile, that Alida was half-disposed to think bold, played about the handsome mouth of the speaker) “but it was so reported. What is your opinion of the merit of woman, in thus seeking refuge from the cares, and haply from the sins, of the world, in institutions of this order.” “Truly the question exceedeth my knowledge. This is not a country to immure females, and the custom causes us of America little thought.” “The usage hath its abuses,” continued the dealer in contraband, speaking thoughtfully; “but it is not without its good. There are many of the weak and vain, that would be happier in the cloisters, than if left to the seductions and follies of life.—Ah! here is work of English hands. I scarcely know how the articles found their way into the company of the products of the foreign looms. My bales contain, in general, little that is vulgarly sanctioned by the law. Speak me, frankly, belle Alida, and say if you share in the prejudices against the character of us free-traders?” “I pretend not to judge of regulations that exceed the knowledge and practices of my sex,” returned the maiden, with commendable reserve. “There are some who think the abuse of power a justification of its resistance, while others deem a breach of law to be a breach of morals.” “The latter is the doctrine of your man of invested moneys and established fortune! He has entrenched his gains behind acknowledged barriers, and he preaches their sanctity, because they favor his selfishness. We skimmers of the sea—” Alida started so suddenly, as to cause her companion to cease speaking. “Are my words frightful, that you pale at their sound?” “I hope they were used rather in accident, than with their dreaded meaning. I would not have it said—no! ’tis but a chance that springs from some resemblance in your callings. One, like you, can never be the man whose name has grown into a proverb!” “One like me, beautiful Alida, is much as fortune wills. Of what man, or of what name wouldst speak?” “’Tis nothing,” returned la belle Barbérie, gazing unconsciously at the polished and graceful features of the stranger, longer than was wont in maiden. “Proceed with your explanation;—these are rich velvets!”