The great feature of the breakfast came on when every crumb of breakfast had been eaten.  Charles and the maid cleared away the table, and the notary stood up to read the marriage contract.  The reading, ordinarily a dull affair, was in this instance vivified by curious incidents.  In the first place, Frau Kranich. amending the injustice her over-credulity had caused, gave her protegee a wedding-present of twenty thousand francs, accompanying the gift with some singularly tart remarks about her nephew:  this sum was increased by the groom to sixty thousand.  The second incident was when Joliet, amid the almost incredulous surprise of the whole table, raised the gift, by the addition of ten thousand, to seventy thousand francs:  the money was the product of his former house and garden—­that house of shreds and patches which had cost him ten francs.  When it came to affixing the signatures, the notary appealed to Joliet for his name.  He could not sign it, being gouty and half forgetful of pen-practice, but he responded to the question as bold as a lion:  “John Thomas Joliet, baron de Rouviere,” throwing to the lawyer a fine bunch of papers bearing witness to the validity of the title; after which he added, no less proudly, “wine-merchant, wholesale and retail, at the sign of the Golden Chickens, Noisy.”

[Illustration:  SQUARE OF THE HOTEL DE VILLE, BRUSSELS.]

In truth, Joliet’s father had rightfully borne the title of baron de Rouviere, but, ruined by ’48, had abandoned the practice of signing it.  Joliet resumed it for this special occasion, having every warrant for the act, but whispered to me that he should never so call himself in future, greatly preferring the enumeration of his qualities on his business-card.

Poor Francine meanwhile had looked so timid and blushed so that Frau Kranich nodded to her permission of absence.  She gave one glance at Fortnoye, buried her face in her hands, laughed a sweet little gurgle, and fled.  When her presence was again necessary, she reappeared, drowned in white.  We went to the mayor’s office, where she lost a pretty little surname that had always seemed to fit her like a glove; then to the church, an obscure one in the neighborhood of Frau Kranich’s house.  But at the door of the sacred edifice the elder lady said, with much conciliatory grace in her manner, “I claim exemption from witnessing this part of the ceremony; and you, Mr. Flemming, must resume or discover your Protestantism and enter the carriage with me.  I must show you a little of the city while these young birds are pairing.”

No objection was made to this rather strange proposal.  The bride, between her father and husband, forgot that she had no friend of her own sex to stand near her.  We arranged for a general meeting at the dinner.

In the carriage she said, “I brought you away because I am devoured with uneasiness.  Mrs. Ashburleigh wrote me that she would certainly be here for at least the principal part of the ceremony.  I do not know what to make of it.  It may be of no use, but we will scour the city.  These throngs, this noise, make me uneasy.  I fear some accident, having,” she added with a smile, “one lone woman’s sympathy for another lone woman.”