"

Upon the boat, Paul Jacquemin did not leave the side of the matchmaker.
He followed her everywhere. He had still to obtain a description of the
bride's toilettes, the genealogy of General Vogotzine, a sketch of the
bridegroom's best friend, Varhely, and a thousand other details.

"Where will the wedding take place?" he asked the Baroness.

"At Maisons-Lafitte. Oh! everything is perfect, my dear Jacquemin,
perfect! An idyl! All the arrangements are exquisite, exquisite! I only
wish that you had charge of the supper."

Jacquemin, general overseer of the Baroness's parties in the Rue Murillo,
did not confess himself inferior to any one as an epicure. He would taste
the wines, with the air of a connoisseur, holding his glass up to the
light, while the liquor caressed his palate, and shutting his eyes as if
more thoroughly to decide upon its merits.

"Pomard!" would slowly fall from his lips, or "Acceptable Musigny!" "This
Chambertin is really very fair!" "The Chateau Yquem is not half bad!"
etc., etc. And the next morning would appear in the reports, which he
wrote himself under various pseudonyms: "Our compliments to our friend
Jacquemin, if he had anything to do with the selection of the wines, in
addition to directing the rehearsals of the Baroness's operetta, which
latter work he most skilfully accomplished. Jacquemin possesses talents
of all kinds; he knows how to make the best of all materials. As the
proverb says, 'A good mill makes everything flour.'"

Jacquemin had already cast an eye over the menu of the Prince's fete, and
declared it excellent, very correct, very pure.

....................

The steamer was at last ready to depart, and Prince Zilah had done the
honors to all his guests. It started slowly off, the flags waving
coquettishly in the breeze, while the Tzigani musicians played with
spirit the vibrating notes of the March of Rakoczy, that triumphant air
celebrating the betrothal of Zilah, as it had long ago saluted the burial
of his father.

CHAPTER X

"IS FATE SO JUST?"

"We are moving! We are off!" cried the lively little Baroness. "I hope we
shan't be shipwrecked," retorted Jacquemin; and he then proceeded to draw
a comical picture of possible adventures wherein figured white bears,
icebergs, and death by starvation. "A subject for a novel,--'The
Shipwreck of the Betrothed.'"

As they drew away from Paris, passing the quays of Passy and the taverns
of Point-du-jou