heroine, a queenly heroine,--that of Theresa of Hungary, for
example; or, better still, that of Brynhilda the Valkyrie, the
beloved of Sigurd, the serpent-killer, who incurred the curse of
Odin, because, in the tumult of spears, she sided with the young
king, and doomed the old warrior to die, to whom Odin had promised
victory.

Belle looked at me for a moment in silence; then turning to Mrs.
Petulengro, she said, "You have had your will with me; are you
satisfied?" "Quite so, madam," said Mrs. Petulengro, "and I hope
you will be so too, as soon as you have looked in the glass." "I
have looked in one already," said Belle; "and the glass does not
flatter." "You mean the face of the young rye," said Mrs.
Petulengro; "never mind him, madam; the young rye, though he knows
a thing or two, is not a university, nor a person of universal
wisdom. I assure you, that you never looked so well before; and I
hope that, from this moment, you will wear your hair in this way."
"And who is to braid it in this way?" said Belle, smiling. "I,
madam," said Mrs. Petulengro; "I will braid it for you every
morning, if you will but be persuaded to join us. Do so, madam,
and I think, if you did, the young rye would do so too." "The
young rye is nothing to me, nor I to him," said Belle; "we have
stayed some time together; but our paths will soon be apart. Now,
farewell, for I am about to take a journey." "And you will go out
with your hair as I have braided it," said Mrs. Petulengro; "if you
do, everybody will be in love with you." "No," said Belle;
"hitherto I have allowed you to do what you please, but henceforth
I shall have my own way. Come, come," said she, observing that the
gypsy was about to speak, "we have had enough of nonsense; whenever
I leave this hollow, it will be wearing my hair in my own fashion."