"
* * * * *
Bright shone the day that gave Diana to her husband, and very beautiful
looked the bride in her simple dress. Gustave Lenoble's marriage was no
less quietly performed than that union which had secured the safety of
Charlotte Halliday and the happiness of Valentine Hawkehurst. The shadow
of death hovered very near bride and bridegroom; for they knew full well
that he who was to preside that day at their simple marriage-feast would
soon have tasted that last sacred cup which has no after-flavour of
bitterness.
The breakfast promised by the Captain was arranged with much elegance.
Hothouse flowers and fruits; wines with the icedew sparkling on the dark
glass; chickens and tongue, idealized by the confectioner's art, and
scarcely recognizable beneath rich glazings and embellishments of jellies
and forcemeats; the airiest and least earthly of lobster salads, and a
pyramid of coffee-ice, testified to the glory of the Belgravian purveyor.
It had been pleasant to Captain Paget to send his orders to Gunter,
certain of funds to meet the bill. It was almost a glimpse of that land
of milk and honey, that Canaan in Normandy, which he was never to
inhabit.
He was very weak, very ill; but the excitement of the occasion in some
measure sustained and revivified him. The man who had been engaged to
nurse and wait upon him had attired him with much care in a dressing-gown
as elegant as the robe in which he had disported himself, a penniless
young cornet, in his luxurious garrison quarters, some fifty years
before.
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