“Your daughter, Madame!” said he.  “Allow me to congratulate you.  May I also be permitted to congratulate the bride?” And with this he took off his hat to Suzette and shook hands with Andre, who looked not overpleased, and proceeded to introduce me as his friend Monsieur Basil Arbuthnot, “a young English gentleman, tres distingue”

The old lady then said her name was Madame Roquet, and that she rented a small farm about a mile and a half from Rouen; that Suzette was her only child; and that she had lost her “blessed man” about eight years ago.  She next introduced the elderly couple as her brother Jacques Robineau and his wife, and informed us that Jacques was a tailor, and had a shop opposite the church of St. Maclou, “la bas.”

To judge of Monsieur Robineau’s skill by his outward appearance, I should have said that he was professionally unsuccessful, and supplied his own wardrobe from the misfits returned by his customers.  He wore a waistcoat which was considerably too long for him, trousers which were considerably too short, and a green cloth coat with a high velvet collar which came up nearly to the tops of his ears.  In respect of personal characteristics, Monsieur Robineau and his wife were the most admirable contrast imaginable.  Monsieur Robineau was short; Madame Robineau was tall.  Monsieur Robineau was as plump and rosy as a robin; Madame Robineau was pale and bony to behold.  Monsieur Robineau looked the soul of good nature, ready to chirrup over his grog-au-vin, to smoke a pipe with his neighbor, to cut a harmless joke or enjoy a harmless frolic, as cheerfully as any little tailor that ever lived; Madame Robineau, on the contrary, preserved a dreadful dignity, and looked as if she could laugh at nothing on this side of the grave.  Not to consider the question too curiously, I should have said, at first sight, that Monsieur Robineau stood in no little awe of his wife, and that Madame Robineau was the very head and front of their domestic establishment.

It was wonderful and delightful to see how Captain Dalrymple placed himself on the best of terms with all these good people—­how he patted Robineau on the back and complimented Madame, banished the cloud from Andre’s brow, and summoned a smile to the pretty cheek of Suzette.  One would have thought he had known them for years already, so thoroughly was he at home with every member of the wedding party.

Presently, he asked Suzette to dance.  She blushed scarlet, and cast a pretty appealing look at her husband and her mother.  I could almost guess what she whispered to the former by the motion of her lips.

“Monsieur Andre will, I am sure, spare Madame for one gallop,” said Dalrymple, with that kind of courtesy which accepts no denial.  It was quite another tone, quite another manner.  It was no longer the persuasive suavity of one who is desirous only to please, but the politeness of a gentleman to au inferior.