As for Annesley Beecher, no man ever more accurately understood how to “costume” for every circumstance in life; and whether you saw him lounging over the rail in Rotten Row, strolling through the Park at Richmond, sunning himself at Cowes, or yawning through a wet day in a country-house, his “get-up” was sure to be faultless. Hundreds tried in vain to catch the inimitable curl of his hat, the unattainable sweep of his waistcoat-collar; and then there were shades and tones of his color about him that were especially his own. Of course, I am not about to describe his appearance on this morning; it is enough if I say that he bestowed every care upon it, and succeeded. And Paul,--Holy Paul,--how blandly imposing, how unctuously serene he looked! Marriage was truly a benediction at such hands. He faltered a little, his dulcet accents trembled with a modest reluctance, as he asked, “'Wilt thou take--this woman--'” Could he have changed the Liturgy for the occasion, he had said, “this angel;” as it was, his voice compensated for the syllables, and the question was breathed out like air from the Garden of Eden. And so they were married; and there was a grand breakfast, where all the household were assembled, and where Paul Classon made a most effective little speech to “the health of the bride,” interpolating his English and German with a tact all his own; and then they drove away with four posters, with all the noise and whip-cracking, the sighs and smiles and last good-byes, just as if the scene had been Hanover Square, and the High Priest a Canon of Westminster! CHAPTER XXV. STUNNING TIDINGS A telegram, duly despatched, had prepared the hotel of the Cour de Bade for the arrival of the Honorable Annesley and Mrs. Beecher; and when the well-appointed travelling-carriage came clattering into the _porte-cochère_ at nightfall, there was a dress parade of landlord and waiters ready to receive them. It was a very long time since Beecher had felt the self-importance of being deemed rich. For many a year back life had been but a series of struggles, and it was a very delightful sensation to him to witness once more all the ready homage, all the obsequious attention which are only rendered to affluence. Herr Bauer had got the despatch just in time to keep his handsomest suite of rooms for him; indeed, he had “sent away the Margraf of Schweinerhausen, who wanted them.” This was gratifying; and, limited as Beecher's German was, he could catch the muttered exclamations of “Ach Grott, wie schön!” “Wie leiblich!” as his beautiful wife passed up the stairs; and this, too, pleased him. In fact, his was just then the glorious mood that comes once in a lifetime to the luckiest of us,--to be charmed with everything.