this pageantry and
enthusiasm approached, and amid a blaze of fireworks, the picturesque
population of this fascinating city tried to return to ordinary feeling
and to common sense.

If amid this graceful hubbub and this glittering riot any one could
have found time to remark the carriage and conduct of an individual, one
might have observed, and perhaps been surprised at, the change in those
of Miss Neuchatel. That air of pensive resignation which distinguished
her seemed to have vanished. She never wore that doleful look for which
she was too remarkable in London saloons, and which marred a countenance
favoured by nature and a form intended for gaiety and grace. Perhaps it
was the influence of the climate, perhaps the excitement of the scene,
perhaps some rapture with the wondrous fortunes of the friend whom she
adored, but Adriana seemed suddenly to sympathise with everybody and to
appreciate everything; her face was radiant, she was in every dance,
and visited churches and museums, and palaces and galleries, with keen
delight. With many charms, the intimate friend of their sovereign,
and herself known to be noble and immensely rich, Adriana became the
fashion, and a crowd of princes were ever watching her smiles, and
sometimes offering her their sighs.

"I think you enjoy our visit more than any one of us," said Endymion to
her one day, with some feeling of surprise.

"Well, one cannot mope for ever," said Miss Neuchatel; "I have passed my
life in thinking of one subject, and I feel now it made me very stupid."

Endymion felt embarrassed, and, though generally ready, had no repartee
at command. Lord Waldershare, however, came to his relief, and claimed
Adriana for the impending dance.

This wondrous marriage was a grand subject for "our own correspondents,"
and they abounded. Among them were Jawett and St. Barbe. St. Barbe hated
Jawett, as indeed he did all his brethren, but his appointment in this
instance he denounced as an infamous job. "Merely to allow him to
travel in foreign parts, which he has never done, without a single
qualification for the office! However, it will ruin his paper, that is
some consolation. Fancy sending here a man who has never used his
pen except about those dismal statistics, and what he calls first
principles! I hate his style, so neat and frigid. No colour, sir. I hate
his short sentences, like a dog barking; we want a word-painter here,
sir. My description of the wedding sold on