There was a picture for you! Had she been a duchess the rollicking young painter could not have treated her with more deference, bearing himself aloft, his chest out, handing her over the low "thank-ye-marm" at the street corner--the old woman, straight as her bent shoulders would allow, calm, self-contained, but near bursting with a joy that would drown her in tears if she gave way but an instant--and all with a quiet dignity that somehow, when you looked at her, sent a lump to your throat. And then madame and Gaston!--she stepping free and alive, her little feet darting in and out below her rich, short gown, her eyes dancing; he swinging along beside her with that quick, alert step of the young who have always stretched their muscles to the utmost, his sun-burnt skin twice as dark from the mad rush of blood through his veins; abashed at the great honor thrust upon him, and yet with that certain poise and independence common to men who have fought and won and can fight and win again. And last--amused, glad to lend a hand, enjoying it all to the full--Herbert, and Gaston's poor old broken-down-with-hard-work mother--stiff, formal, scared out of her seven wits--trying to smile as she ambled along, her mouth dry, her knees shaking--the rest of us bringing up the rear--Brierley, Le Blanc, The Architect, Marc, and I walking together. [Illustration: First, of course, came the mayor--his worthy spouse on his left] But the greatest sight was at the church--it was but a short step,--the mayor, as he reached it, bowing right and left to the throng, the sacristan pushing his way through the school children massed in two rows on either side of the flower-strewn path, their hands filled with Louis' blossoms; back of these the rest of the villagers--those who wanted to see the procession, and crowding the doorway and well inside the aisles, every soul who could claim admission for miles around. And then as we passed under the old portal--through which, so the legend runs, strode the Great Warrior surrounded by his knights (not a word of which do I believe)--the small organ with a spasmodic jerk wheezed out a welcome that went on increasing in volume until we had moved beneath the groined arches and reached the altar. There we grouped ourselves in a half-circle while the vows were pledged and the small gold ring was slipped on Mignon's finger and Gaston had kissed Mignon; and Mignon had kissed her new mother; and madame la marquise had taken both their hands in her own and said how happy she was, and how she wished them all the joy in the world. And then--and this was the crowning joy of the ceremony--then, like the old cavalier he is, and can be when occasion demands, Lemois stepped up and shook Gaston's hand, Mignon looking at the old man with hungry, loving eyes until, unable to restrain herself the longer, she threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears--and so, with another wheeze of the organ, way was made and the homeward march began.