The custom in Paris is that those who cannot go for the honeymoon to Baden, or to a friend's country-house, pass it apart in some secluded suburb. O'H. and Madame O'H. were not such fools; they resolved to pass it under the captain's roof--their future home; they had no particular wish or necessity to confine themselves to each other's society till they lost novelty and palled on each other, seeing that they were linked while they breathed, and would have ample leisure to improve acquaintance, and spy out small imperfections. For, look you, this is no romance; our heroes and heroines are real, which is saying they are human and weak. The way to celebrate the marriage-day is just as one celebrates any ordinary holiday; the way to enjoy the honeymoon is in activity in the midst of bustling life, not in mooning indolence. The place for both is at home, amongst those whom we know and who are attached to us. This is what our friends did. They drove to the Mairie and the church as we have described; they had a hearty breakfast, at which none were present but the five of the wedding party. Caroline did not fling a shower of rice at the retreating figure of the O'Hoolohan as he left for his château in Spain, but sensibly put the rice in a pot to boil for a supper pudding. Nor did the captain throw an old slipper at the poll of his departing Berthe, for old slippers are useful when one is gouty, and, besides, they sometimes disarrange a head-dress and hurt a little head. Rice and old slippers! What superstitious folly! And yet some very eminent men, wise and no way credulous, have been burdened with the log of superstition. Tyco Brahé was afraid to lay the first stone of his observatory till the stars were in a 'happy conjunction.' The astronomer who discovered the spots on the sun wiped his spectrum fifty times before he could persuade himself to believe his own sight. Sainte-Beuve, sceptic though he was, grew pale if the salt were spilt. O'Hoolohan and O'Hara were not superstitious. They were of the school which believes that it is unlucky to walk under a ladder--only when an awkward workman is handling bricks overhead; unlucky to sit down thirteen at table--only when there is not food enough for more than twelve. But Captain Chauvin was superstitious, after a kind. Like his idol, he held by destiny, and had faith in his planet. On all high days and holy days it was his wont to make pilgrimage to the shrine of his patron saint. Call this whim if you like, superstition if you will. On this happy day his secretly-cherished idea was to carry out his habit, and the moment he spoke of it his friends agreed to humour him. And in this wise it came to pass that there was a honeymoon trip, but a brief one in limit of time and travelling. Now, where should the honeymoon trip be taken? In London, that is a question easier to answer than in Paris. 'Anywhere, anywhere _out_ of London,' would be the answer.