“Have you told Carrie?” asked Juliet.

“No, I have not.  She seems so nervous whenever he is mentioned,” was Agnes’ reply.

I thought of the obligations once referred to by Agnes, and felt that I should breathe more freely when Carrie really was married.  Other guests now began to arrive, and we who had fixed long enough before the looking-glass repaired to the parlor below.  Bill, who saw Sally married, had convinced me that the story of the broomstick was a falsehood, so I was prepared for its absence, but I wondered then, not more than I do now, why grown-up people shouldn’t be whipped for telling untruths to children as well as children for telling untruths to grown-up people.

The parlor was now rapidly filling, and I was in great danger of being thrust into the corner, where I could see nothing, when Aunt Eunice very benevolently drew me near her, saying I should see if no one else did.  At last Mr. Ashmore and Carrie came.  Anna can tell you exactly what she wore, but I cannot.  I only know that she looked most beautifully, though I have a vague recollection of fancying that in the making of her dress the sleeves were forgotten entirely, and the neck nearly so.

The marriage ceremony commenced, and I listened breathlessly, but this did not prevent me from hearing some one enter the house by the kitchen door.  Aunt Eunice heard it, too, and when the minister began to say something about Mrs. Ashmore she arose and went out.  Something had just commenced, I think they called them congratulations, when the crowd around the door began to huddle together in order to make room for some person to enter.  I looked up and saw Penoyer, his glittering teeth now partially disclosed, looking a very little fiendish, I thought.  Carrie saw him, too, and instantly turned as white as the satin dress she wore, while Agnes, who seemed to have some suspicion of his errand, exclaimed, “Impudent scoundrel!” At the same time advancing forward, she laid her hand upon his arm.

He shook it off lightly, saying, “Pardonnez moi, ma chere; I’ve no come to trouble you.”  Then turning to Ashmore he said, pointing to Carrie, “She be your wife, I take it?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Ashmore haughtily.  “Have you any objections?  If so they have come too late.”

“Not von, not in the least, no sar,” said the Frenchman, bowing nearly to the floor.  “It give me one grand plaisir; so now you will please settle von leetle bill I have against her;” at the same time he drew from his pocket a sheet of half-worn paper.

Carrie, who was leaning heavily against Mr. Ashmore instantly sprang forward and endeavored to snatch the paper, saying half-imploringly, “Don’t, Penoyer, you know my father will pay it.”

But Penoyer passed it to Mr. Ashmore, while Captain Howard, coming forward, said, “Pay what?  What is all this about?”

“Only a trifle,” said Penoyer; “just a bill for giving your daughter musique lessons three years in Albany.”