Alide by Emma Lazarus

Throughout the evening the extravagant gayety of the merry party continued. At supper, people did not return to their sober senses; dancing went on far into the night, and there was as little want of healths and other incitements to drinking as at noon. Amid a great deal of boisterous mirth, the last good-nights were exchanged after midnight, and the guests conducted to their various apartments. Alide was tripping through the silent hall, when she heard her name uttered in a suppressed voice, and, turning round, she saw her mother standing at her own door, beckoning to her to come in. She obeyed swiftly and noiselessly: preoccupied with joyous thoughts, she did not remark the serious, almost sad, expression of her mother's face.

"I have a word to say to you before you sleep," said Madame Duroc, seating herself on a couch and motioning Alide to a low bench at her feet. "I am afraid I must give you pain," she went on, gently caressing the golden little head at her knees. "I had thought to keep you still a child for awhile yet with me; but no, to-night I must speak to you as a woman, and let you know the grave significance of a life that has already begun in earnest. Alide, your conduct to-day has been very displeasing to me: beyond the limits of decorum and of courtesy to your old friends, you have evinced your preference for this young man Goethe, who has ingratiated himself so suddenly into your father's heart and into our family circle. It is now only a little over a month that you have known him; you are not giddy or thoughtless like some of your companions, but you are infatuated by the charm of his appearance and address. A word is sufficient, my child, for one so sensible and docile as you.