Then the best man, Sir John, who stood behind his brother, looking, if possible, more like a mute at a funeral even than the bridegroom himself, stepped forward out of the shadow.  The new-married couple went into the vestry, followed by Sir John, his mother, and a select few, upon which the door was closed.  All the rest of the company then began to chatter in audible whispers together; they fidgeted backwards and forwards, from one pew to the other.  There were jokes, and smiles, and nods, and hand-shakings between the different members of the wedding party.  All in a low and decorous undertone, of course, but still there was a distinct impression upon every one that all the religious part of the business being well got over, they were free to be jolly about it now, and to enjoy themselves as much as circumstances would admit of.

All at once there was a sudden hush, everybody scuffled back into their places.  The best man put his nose out of the vestry door, and the “Wedding March” struck up.  Then came a procession of chorister boys down the church, each bearing a small bouquet of fern and white flowers.  They ranged themselves on either side of the porch, and the bride and bridegroom came down the aisle alone.

Then it was that Monsieur D’Arblet, leaning forward with the rest to see them pass, caught sight of the face of the girl who stood by his side.

She was pale as death; a look as of the horror of despair was in her eyes, her teeth were set, her hands were clenched together as one who has to impose a terrible and dreadful task upon herself.  Nobody in all that gaily-dressed chattering crowd noticed her, for were not all eyes fixed upon the bride, the queen of the day?  Nobody save the man who stood by her side.  Only he saw that fixed white look of despair, only he heard the long shuddering sigh that burst from her pale lips as the bridegroom went by.  Monsieur D’Arblet said, to himself: 

“This woman loves Monsieur le Capitaine! Bon! Two are better than one; we will avenge ourselves together, my beautiful incognita.”

And then he looked sharply at her companion, and found that her face was familiar to him.  Surely he had dined at that woman’s house once.  Oh, yes! to be sure, it was that insufferable little chatterbox, Mrs. Hazeldine.  He remembered all about her now.

There was a good deal of pushing and cramming at the doorway.  By the time Vera could get out of the stifling heat of the crowded church most of the wedding party had driven off, and the rest were clamouring wildly for their carriages; she herself had got separated from her companion, and when she could rejoin her in the little gravelled yard outside, she found her shaking hands with effusion with the foreign-looking gentleman who had sat next her in the church, but whom, truth to say, she had hardly noticed.

“Let me present to you my friend,” said Cissy.  “Miss Nevill, Monsieur D’Arblet—­you will walk with us as far as the park, won’t you?”