id that he
would meet Concha's mocking glance. He could hear Josephina's stifled
sobs, with her face hidden in the lace of her mantilla. Cotoner felt
called upon to second the prelate's praises with discreet words of
approval.

Then the orchestra noisily began Mendelssohn's "Wedding March"; the
chairs ground on the floor as they were pushed back; the ladies rushed
toward the bride and a buzz of congratulations, shouted over the heads
of the company, and of noisy efforts to be the first to reach her,
drowned out the vibration of the strings and the heavy blast of the
brasses. Monsignor, whose importance disappeared as soon as the ceremony
was over, made his way with his attendants to the dressing-room, passing
unnoticed through the throng. The bride smiled with a resigned air amid
the circle of feminine arms that squeezed her and friendly lips that
showered kisses on her. She expressed surprise at the simplicity of the
ceremony. Was that all there was to it? Was she really married?

Cotoner saw Josephina making her way across the room, looking
impatiently among the shoulders of the guests, her face tinged with a
hectic flush. His instinct of a master of ceremonies warned him that
danger was at hand.

"Take my arm, Josephina. Let's go outside for a breath of fresh air.
This is unbearable."

She took his arm but instead of following him, she dragged him among the
people who crowded around her daughter until at last, seeing the
Countess of Alberca, she stopped. Her prudent friend trembled. Just what
he thought--she was looking for the other woman.

"Josephina, Josephina! Remember that this is Milita's wedding!"

But his advice was useless. Concha, seeing her old friend, ran toward
her. "Dear! So long since I've seen you! A kiss--another." And she
kissed her effusively. The little woman made one attempt to resist; but
then she submitted, dejectedly, smiling sadly, overcome by habit and
training. She returned her kisses coldly with an indifferent expression.
She did not hate Concha. If her husband did not go to her, he would go
to some one else; the real, the dangerous enemy was within him.

The bride and groom, arm in arm, smiling and somewhat fatigued by the
violent congratulations, passed through the groups of people and
disappeared, followed by the last chords of the triumphal march.

The music ceased, and the company crowded around the tables covered with
bottles, cold meats and confections, behind which the ser