Raymond's own advices were meagre. "Your emotional participation not particularly desired"--such seemed to be the message that lay invisible between his few lines. But other correspondents supplied the _lacunae_. He was to marry a girl whose family formed part of the American colony in the French capital. At least, the feminine members of the family were there: the mother, and an elder sister. The father, according to a custom that still provoked Gallic comment, was elsewhere: he was following the markets in America. The bride-to-be was between nineteen and twenty. Raymond himself was thirty-three. He advised me, later, that the wedding would take place at the end of February and requested me to obtain and forward some of the quaint documents demanded at such a juncture by the French authorities. He added that he hoped for a honeymoon in Italy, but that his fiancee favored Biarritz and Pau. The wedding came off at one of the American churches in Paris. It was a sumptuous ceremonial, aided by a bishop (who was on his travels, but who had not forgotten to bring along his vestments) and by the attendance of half the colony. Raymond was obliged to put up with all this pomp and show, much as it ran counter to his tastes and inclinations. But fortunately he was made even less of than most young men on such an occasion; he had few connections on either side of the water, so the bride's connections dominated the day and made her the chief figure still more completely than is commonly the case. And the honeymoon was spent, not in the north of Italy, but in the south of France. There are times when a young girl must have her way. And there are times when a young husband (but not so young) will determine to have his. I knew Raymond. The couple were in no haste to get home. The four months ran to almost a year. I first met the new wife at a reception in the early autumn. "Gertrude," said Raymond, "let me present to you my old friend--" H'm! let me see: what _is_ my name?--Oh, yes: "Gertrude, let me present to you my old friend, George Waite." Can a young bride, dressed in black, and dressed rather simply too, look almost wicked? Well, this one contrived to.