s in a brown traveling suit
with a piquant hat that made her look quite Parisienne--though her low
tan shoes, tied with big silk bows at her trim ankles, were distinctly
American.

Monte was smiling.

"You are n't afraid?" he asked.

"Of what, Monte?"

"I don't know. We 're on our way."

She took a long look at his steady blue eyes. They braced her like
wine.

"You must never let me be afraid," she answered.

"Then--en avant!" he called.

In a way, it was a pity that they could not have been married out of
doors. They should have gone into a garden for the ceremony instead of
into the subdued light of the chapel. Then, too, it would have been
much better had the Reverend Alexander Gordon been younger. He was a
gentle, saintly-looking man of sixty, but serious--terribly serious.
He had lived long in Paris, but instead of learning to be gay he had
become like those sad-faced priests at Notre Dame. Perhaps if he had
understood better the present circumstances he would have entered into
the occasion instead of remaining so very solemn.

As Marjory shook hands with him she lost her bright color. Then, too,
he had a voice that made her think again of Peter Noyes. In sudden
terror she clung to Monte's arm, and during the brief ceremony gave her
responses in a whisper.

Peter Noyes himself could not have made of this journey to the embassy
a more trying ordeal. A ring was slipped upon the fourth finger of her
left hand. A short prayer followed, and an earnest "God bless you, my
children," which left her feeling suffocated. She thought Monte would
never finish talking with him--would never get out into the sunshine
again. When he did, she shrank away from the glare of the living day.

Monte gave a sigh of relief.

"That's over, anyhow," he said.

Hearing a queer noise behind him, he turned. There stood Marie,
sniffling and wiping her eyes.

"Good Heavens," he demanded, "what's this?"

Marjory instantly moved to the girl's side.

"There--there," she soothed her gently; "it's only the excitement,
n'est ce pas?"

"Yes, madame; and you know I wish you all happiness."

"And me also?" put in Monte.

"It goes without saying that monsieur will be happy."

He thrust some gold-pieces into her hand.

"Then drink to our good health with your friends," he suggested.

Calling a taxicab, he assisted her in; but before the door closed
Marjory leaned toward her and whispered in her ear:--

"You will c