"We will have an old-time wedding," he continued gayly, with a comprehensive wave of his hand as if he were arranging the stage setting--"something quite in keeping with the general sentiment; for certain it is that not since the days when fair ladies let themselves down from castle walls into the arms of their plumed knights, only to dash away into space on milk-white steeds, will there be anything quite so romantic as this child-wedding!" "And so you mean to have a rope ladder, do you, and let my----" "Oh, no, madame la marquise," he interrupted--"nothing so ordinary! We"--here he began rubbing his hands together quite as if he was ordering a dinner for an epicure--"we will have a revival of all the old customs just as they were in this very place. Our bride will join her lord in a cabriolet, and our groom will come on horseback--all fishermen ride, you know--and so will the other fishermen and maids--each gallant with a fair lady seated behind him on the crupper, her arms about his waist. Then we will have trumpeters and a garter man----" "A what!" She was still at sea as to his meaning, although she had not missed the tone of irony in his voice. "A man, madame, whose duty is to secure one of the bride's garters. Oh, you need not start--that is quite simply arranged. The old-time brides always carried an extra pair to save themselves embarrassment. The one for the garter-man will be trimmed with ribbons which he will cut off and distribute to the other would-be brides, who will keep them in their prayer-books." "Leà, for instance," chimed in Louis, winking at Herbert. "Leà, for instance, my dear Monsieur Louis. I know of no better mate for a man--and it is a pity you are too young." The laugh was on Louis this time, but the old man kept straight on, his subtle irony growing more pointed as he continued: "And then, madame, when it is all over and the couple retire for the night--and of course we will give them the best room in our house, they being most distinguished personages--none other than Monsieur Gaston Duprè, Lord of the Lobster Pot, Duke of Buezval, and Grand Marshal of the Deep Sea, and Mademoiselle Mignon, Princess of----" The marquise drew herself up to her full height. "Stop your nonsense, Lemois. I won't let you say another word; you shan't ridicule my young people. Stop it, I say!" "Oh, but wait, madame--please hear me out--I have not finished. These pewter dishes must also come into service"--and he caught up the two bowls from the tops of the great andirons behind him--"these we will fill with spices steeped in mulled wine, which, as I tried to say, we will send to their Royal Highnesses' bedroom--after they are tucked away in----"