She was a magnificent-looking woman—of a tall and finely-proportioned figure, and a haughty carriage, delicate aquiline features, with an expression of blended pride and fastidiousness, fair complexion, blue eyes, and light hair arranged in plain bandeaux. She wore a light blue brocade satin dress, and a mantilla of rich white lace. She entered, smiling proudly. Lord Montressor rose to greet her. “Good-morning, my lord, I hope the interview this most capricious of dear Stellas demanded, is at an end, for, whether it be or not, I must interrupt you. It is half-past eleven, and if there is a marriage to be solemnized to-day, it is full time we were at the church.” “Our interview is concluded, madam! I am ready, and only waiting your ladyship’s convenience,” said Lord Montressor advancing an easy chair for the lady’s reception. “Thank you, I do not wish to rest. Your attendants, my lord, are——” “They are probably now waiting for me at the church, madam, where I will meet you a few minutes hence. _Au revoir_, dear Stella!” said his lordship, and lifting the hand of his promised bride to his lips, and then bowing to Lady Morelle, he left the room. The lady rang for her daughter’s maid. “I declare, Estelle, I never knew so strange a girl! Now what, possibly, could you have wanted to say to Montressor this morning?” “I only wanted to put his heart to a last trial, dear mamma.” “Your head is turned, I think!—but here comes Finette. Now stand up and have your robe smoothed, and your wreath and vail put on.” At this moment the French dressing-maid, Finette, entered, and Estelle stood up before the cheval mirror, while the girl drew down the folds of her robe, and took up the virginal wreath of orange blossoms to set upon her head. “Not that—not that, Finette! Open that box, it contains a coronet I have chosen for this occasion.” The girl raised the lid of the box that her mistress had indicated, and drew thence a rich wreath of passion flowers. “That is the wreath I shall wear, Finette.” “Why, my dearest Estelle, how eccentric! Who ever heard of a bride wearing other than orange blossoms in her hair? Do, love, be reasonable!” “Do, sweet mamma, indulge me on my marriage day and permit me even to be _un_reasonable in the trifling affair of choosing a wreath.” “Well, well, as you please, you dear, eccentric creature! Lady Montressor will soon be in a position to give the law to fashion in all matters of taste, and it is easy to foresee that she will be an innovator!” said Lady Morelle, proudly and fondly, as she gazed upon her beautiful daughter. And thus the wreath of passion flowers was placed upon her brow, the vail thrown over her head, and the toilet of the bride was complete. “Come now, my love, let us go down,” said the lady, giving her arm to her daughter to conduct her from the room.