And, looking at her steadfastly, she sighed,
As if she pitied her for being there,
A pretty stranger without friend or guide,
And all abashed, too, at the general stare
Which welcomes hapless strangers in all places,
With kind remarks upon their mien and faces.
XLVI.
But here the Mother of the Maids drew near,
With "Ladies, it is time to go to rest.
I'm puzzled what to do with you, my dear!"