sun shone gloriously on the bridal day of
Madeleine and Bertha. The ceremony was to take place at any early
hour,--no invitations were issued,--the bridal party was to meet at
Madeleine's to go to church.

Madeleine and Bertha were attired precisely alike, and with severe
simplicity; they both wore dresses of white silk, made close to the
throat. (A _decolte_ attire would not be tolerated at a Parisian
bridal.) Their veils were circular and of point lace; their chaplets of
natural orange blossoms woven by Madeleine herself. Madeleine had not
intended to wear any ornament, save the cross Maurice had presented her,
but Bertha insisted on clasping Lady Katrine Nugent's bridal bracelet on
her cousin's arm, and fastening her tiny lace collar with the lily and
shamrock brooch. Bertha, herself, wore Gaston's cameos, and could
scarcely restrain her joyful tears when she fastened on her fair bosom
the brooch which represented her lover's countenance, and the bracelet
that bore her beloved Madeleine's. She was adorned with the images of
the two most dear on earth.

Need we say that both brides were supremely lovely? Gazing at Bertha's
sweet, unclouded face, that looked out from among the wealth of golden
ringlets, and noting the soft light in her blue eyes, the delicate
rose-flush that came and went on her cheeks, one might well declare that
nothing more beautiful could be found, until the gazer turned to
Madeleine. Her face was colorless with emotion, yet its paleness only
rendered the sculpturesque beauty of her features more striking; her
eyes were downcast, and thus one missed their clear lustre and holy
expression; yet the long lashes were some compensation, and her look was
so spiritual, so saint-like in its beauty, that nothing mortal could
have been lovelier.

For one moment only were Maurice and Gaston permitted to greet their
brides, and then they were hurried into the carriages which awaited
them.

Though no invitations had been given, the church was densely crowded.
When the nuptial procession entered, the suppressed murmur of many
voices sounded like the rushing of distant waves. First came Madame de
Gramont, leaning on the arm of Maurice; they were followed by Ronald and
Ruth Thornton; Madeleine, led by the Marquis de Fleury, followed. Then
came the second party, Gaston with Mrs. Walton on his arm; Lady Augusta
and Mr. Rutledge; Bertha, led by Mr. Walton, not the least proud and
happy man of that large assembl