I could not help laughing outright at the idea of this formality, nor could Laura refrain either when I explained to her what they came for. However, time passed; the jingle of the bells on the mules’ harness warned us that our equipage waited, and I dipped the pen in the ink and handed it to Laura. ‘I wish he would excuse me from performing this ceremony,’ said she, holding back; ‘I really am quite enough ashamed already.’ ‘What says mademoiselle?’ inquired the _père_, as she spoke in English. I translated her remark, when he broke in, ‘Oh, you must comply; it’s only a formality, but still every one does it.’ ‘Come, come,’ said I, in English, ‘indulge the old man; he is evidently bent on this whim, and let us not leave him disappointed.’ ‘Be it so, then,’ said she; ‘on your head, Mr. O’Leary, be the whole of this day’s indiscretion’; and so saying, she took the pen and wrote her name, ‘Laura Alicia Muddleton.’ ‘Now, then, for my turn,’ said I, advancing; but the _père_ took the pen from her fingers and proceeded carefully to dry the writing with a scrap of blotting-paper. ‘On this side, monsieur,’ said he, turning over the page; ‘we do the whole affair in orderly fashion, you see. Put your name there, with the date and the day of the week.’ ‘Will that do?’ said I, as I pushed over the book towards him, where certainly the least imposing specimen of calligraphy the volume contained now stood confessed. ‘What a droll name!’ said the priest, as he peered at it through his spectacles. ‘How do you pronounce it?’ While I endeavoured to indoctrinate the father into the mystery of my Irish appellation, the mayor and the mayoress had both appended their signatures on either page. ‘Well, I suppose now we may depart at last,’ said Laura; ‘it’s getting very late.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, aloud; ‘we must take the road now; there is nothing more, I fancy, Père José?’ ‘Yes, but there is though,’ said he, laughing. At the same moment the galloping of horses and the rumble of wheels were heard without, and a carriage drew up in the street. Down went the steps with a crash; several people rushed along the little gallery, till the very house shook with their tread. The door of the salon was now banged wide, and in rushed Colonel Muddleton, followed by the count, the abbé, and an elderly lady. ‘Where is he?’--‘Where is she?’--‘Where is he?’--‘Where is she?’--‘Where are they?’ screamed they, in confusion, one after the other. ‘Laura! Laura!’ cried the old colonel, clasping his daughter in his arms; ‘I didn’t expect this from you!’ ‘Monsieur O’Leary, vous êtes un----’ ‘Before the count could finish, the abbé interposed between us, and said ‘No, no! Everything may be arranged. Tell me, in one word, is it over?’ ‘Is what over?’ said I, in a state two degrees worse than insanity--‘is what over?’ ‘Are you married?’ whispered he. ‘No, bless your heart! never thought of it.’