They kept their word, and came to the wedding, a hundred or more, with a lump of gold valued at $200, for the bride, and another of equal value for Roger. At the station they screamed themselves hoarse with their good-byes, and when the train was gone, sat down upon the platform and wondered what they should do without the parson and what he would do without them, and if that Massachusetts Temperance Society, as they called Miss Hansford, who had several times lectured them for drinking, wouldn’t make it lively for Roger and the kids. This was in April, and early in May Paul and Elithe sailed for Europe, going directly to Paris, where they staid week after week until it was now the last of June, and they were still occupying their handsome suite of rooms at the Grand Hotel, with Tom and a French maid in attendance. Elithe was delighted with everything in Paris, and it seemed to Paul that she grew lovelier every day. Possibly dress had something to do with this. Her mother had made a request that she should not wear black, and Elithe had respected the request, but avoided whatever was gay and conspicuous. Paul would like to have heaped upon her everything he saw in the show windows, but her good sense kept him in check, while her good taste, aided by the best modistes in Paris, made her one of the most becomingly dressed ladies at the table d’hôte, where so much fashion was displayed. Doucet’s last effort, though plain, was a great success, and never had Elithe been more beautiful than when she was waiting for Paul’s return from Munroe’s and wondering if he would bring any letters. He had found several, one of which made him for a time forget all the rest.