, for I foresee that even were you to marry the prince
royal, I should not be at your wedding.'

I blushed to my very eyes: our poor Matthias was quite right. I ran as
fast as I could to my chamber in search of a bouquet, but unfortunately
they were every one gone; my mother had distributed them all among the
guests. The gardener lives at a considerable distance from the castle,
and I did not know what I should do, as I was most anxious Matthias
should have his bouquet, apart from all consideration of his prophecy.
Suddenly, an excellent idea occurred to me; I divided my own bouquet,
tied up the half of it with a white ribbon, and fastened it to his
buttonhole by a gold pin, keeping a common one for myself. Matthias was
charmed with this proceeding, and said to me:

'Frances, you are better than beautiful; you are an angel of goodness. I
am sometimes a prophet: may the desires I entertain for you be all
fulfilled! I will carefully preserve this bouquet until your
marriage.... What will you be, Frances, when I return it to you?'

How strange! Matthias's words occupied my mind during the whole evening.
They rang in my ears, and I could not forget them.... But what an idea!
Am I a Barbara Radziwill?[B] Are we still in the times when kings make
misalliances?... What folly! I dream, when I should think only of my
sister. I will return to the ceremony.

The whole company were assembled in the hall, and kept their eyes fixed
upon the door. The two leaves of the folding door were thrown open, and
Barbara, supported by two ladies, entered weeping. She trembled as she
walked; she seemed almost stifled by her emotion, and could scarcely
restrain her sobs. The starost regarded her tenderly, and, approaching
her, took her hand to lead her to our parents. They then both knelt to
receive the paternal benediction; all present were deeply moved. After
having received the blessing, the pair made the circuit of the room, and
every one tendered good wishes and congratulations.

Finally they went into the castle chapel, where the Abbe Vincent stood
before the altar. The minister Borch, the king's representative, and
Kochanowski, son of the castellan, offered their hands to Barbara, while
the starost gave his to Miss Malachowska and myself. My parents, the
rest of the family, and our guests marched in, two and two. The silence
was so profound that the rustling of the silk dresses could be
distinctly heard. A great number of wax tapers we