who was assailed on his wedding-day by the anger of an aunt which brought him good luck. Shoes and slippers do not yet form part of our nuptial celebrations; but, patience, with the spread of good taste we shall yet come to it. In 1833,--it is a century since then,--marriage was not performed at a smart trot; people still supposed at that epoch, whimsically enough, that a marriage is a private and social festival, that a patriarchal banquet does not spoil a domestic solemnity; that gayety, even if it be excessive, so long as it is decent, does no harm to happiness; and finally, that it is venerable and good for the fusion of these two destinies from which a family will issue, to begin in the house, and that the household may have in future the nuptial chamber as a witness; and people were so immodest as to many at home. The wedding took place, then, according to this fashion which is now antiquated, at M. Gillenormand's; and though this affair of marrying is so simple and natural, the publication of the banns, drawing up the deeds, the mayoralty, and the church always cause some complication, and they could not be ready before February 16. Now--we note this detail for the pure satisfaction of being exact--it happened that the 16th was Mardi Gras. There were hesitations and scruples, especially on the part of Aunt Gillenormand. "A Mardi Gras!" the grandfather exclaimed; "all the better. There is a proverb that,-- 'Mariage un Mardi gras N'aura point d'enfants ingrats.' All right. Done for the 16th. Do you wish to put it off, Marius?" "Certainly not," said the amorous youth. "We'll marry then," said the grandfather.