ime, in the next room they could hear Madame d'Argy vehemently
repeating: "Never! No, I never will consent! Is it a plot between you?"

They heard also a rumbling monotone preceding each of these vehement
interruptions. The Abbe Bardin was pointing out to her that, unmarried,
her son would return to Tonquin, that Lizerolles would be left deserted,
her house would be desolate without daughter-in-law or grandchildren;
and, as he drew these pictures, he came back, again and again, to his
main argument:

"I will answer for their happiness: I will answer for the future."

His authority as a priest gave weight to this assurance, at least Madame
d'Argy felt it so. She went on saying never, but less and less
emphatically, and apparently she ceased to say it at last, for three
months later the d'Etaples, the Rays, the d'Avrignys and the rest,
received two wedding announcements in these words:

"Madame d'Argy has the honor to inform you of the marriage of her son, M.
Frederic d'Argy, Chevalier of the Legion of Honor, to Mademoiselle de
Nailles."

The accompanying card ran thus:

"The Baroness de Nailles has the honor to inform you of the
marriage of Mademoiselle Jacqueline de Nailles, her
stepdaughter, to M. Frederic d'Argy."

Congratulations showered down on both mother and stepmother. A love-match
is nowadays so rare! It turned out that every one had always wished all
kinds of good fortune to young Madame d'Argy, and every one seemed to
take a sincere part in the joy that was expressed on the occasion, even
Dolly, who, it was said, had in secret set her heart on Fred for herself;
even Nora Sparks, who, not having carried out her plans, had gone back to
New York, whence she sent a superb wedding present. Madame de Nailles
apparently experienced at the wedding all the emotions of a real mother.

The roses at Lizerolles bloomed that year with unusual beauty, as if to
welcome the young pair. Modeste sang 'Nunc Dimittis'. The least
demonstrative of all those interested in the event was Giselle.

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

As we grow older we lay aside harsh judgments and sharp words
Blow which annihilates our supreme illusion
Death is not that last sleep
Fool (there is no cure for that infirmity)
The worst husband is always better than none

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS FOR THE ENTIRE JACQUELINE:

A familiarity which, had he known it, was not flattering
A mother'