As I never felt any peculiar pleasure in the relations which office compels with men of his stamp, I received him somewhat coldly, and asked, without much circumlocution, the reason of his visit. He replied, with his habitual smile of self-possession, that his present duty at “the Mission” was not a business-call, but concerned a matter purely personal;--in fact, “with his Excellency’s permission, he desired to get married.” Not stopping him on the score of his investing me with a title to which, no one knew better than himself, I had no pretensions, I quietly assured him that his relation with “the Mission” did not, in any way, necessitate his asking for such a permission--that, however secret and mysterious the nature of his communications, they were still beyond the pale of affairs personally private. He suffered me to continue my explanation, somewhat scornful as it was, to the end, and then calmly said,-- “Your Excellency will pardon my intrusion, when I inform you that the marriage should take place here, at ‘the Mission,’ as the lady is an English woman.” Whether it was the fact itself, or his manner of delivering it, that outraged me, I cannot now remember; but I do recollect giving expression to a sentiment of surprise and anger not exactly suitable. He merely smiled, and said nothing. “Very well, M. Salvatori,” said I, corrected by the quietude of his manner; “what is your day?” “Wednesday, if your Excellency pleases.” “Wednesday be it, and at eight o’clock.” “As your Excellency desires,” said he, bowing and retiring. It had never occurred to me to ask for any information about the happy fair one; indeed, if I had given a thought at all to the matter, it would have been that she was of the rank of a _femme-de-chambre_, or, at least, some unhappy children’s governess, glad to exchange one mode of tyranny for another. As he was leaving the room, however, some sense of remorse, perhaps, at the _brusquerie_ I had shewn towards him, suggested the question, “Who might the lady be?” “Mademoiselle Graham.” “Ah! a very good name, indeed,” said I; and so, with a word or two of common-place, I bade him good-by. The Wednesday morning arrived, and two carriages drove into the court of “the Mission:” out of one sprung Signor Salvatori and a very bearded gentleman, who accompanied him as his friend; from the other alighted, first, an elderly lady, whose dress was a mixture of wedding finery and widow’s mourning; then came a very elegant-looking girl, veiled from head to foot, followed by her maid; and, lastly, the chaplain to “the Mission.” They were some minutes too early, and I equally behind my time; but I dressed hastily, and descended to the salon, where M. Salvatori received me with a very gracious expression of his self-satisfaction. Passing him by, I advanced to address a few words to the old lady, who had risen from her seat; when, stepping back, I exclaimed, “Mrs. Graham--my old friend, Mrs. Graham! Is this possible?”