The swans did not awake to answer.
Only the nightingale answered from the willows, with Desdemona's song.
But Bebee had never heard of Desdemona, and the willows had no sigh for
her.
"Good night!" she said, softly, to all the green dewy sleeping world, and
then she lay down and slept herself.--The nightingale sang on, and the
willows trembled.
CHAPTER V.
"If I could save a centime a day, I could buy a pair of stockings this
time next year," thought Bebee, locking her shoes with her other
treasures in her drawer the next morning, and taking her broom and pail
to wash down her little palace.
But a centime a day is a great deal in Brabant, when one has not always
enough for bare bread, and when, in the long chill winter, one must weave
thread lace all through the short daylight for next to nothing at all;
for there are so many women in Brabant, and every one of them, young or
old, can make lace, and if one do not like the pitiful wage, one may
leave it and go and die, for what the master lacemakers care or know;
there will always be enough, many more than enough, to twist the thread
round the bobbins, and weave the bridal veils, and the trains for the
courts.
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