First we were married in legal form--in a manner corresponding to marriage before a registrar in England. Flammarion wished this to be the only ceremony, and desired no Church rite; in this being consistent with his great astronomical philosophy, which I expect to be the religion of the future. But in the end he waived his determination, to please our mothers--and, I must confess, to please me also. But he made the condition that there should be no confession, such as is usually made part of the Roman Catholic ceremony. The good Abbé P----, who was to officiate, expended all his eloquence to shake Flammarion's determination in this respect, but his eloquence and his pains went for nothing. It was useless to insist, Flammarion assured him, and he found it so. "But, my dear friend," pleaded the excellent Abbé, "if not a confession, then at least something: merely a conversation." "No! Never! Not even that!" was Flammarion's final answer. "Then," persisted the Abbé, "you will at any rate grant me one personal favour--nothing connected with the ceremony. Say, now, will you grant me that favour?" "Most certainly," Flammarion replied, rather incautiously. "Granted before asked. What is it?" "That I may ascend with you in the balloon." "Abbé--you are a shrewd man. It shall be as you wish, of course. In fact, the balloon will carry four, and as we ourselves, with the aeronaut, M. Godard, make only three, there is a vacancy. You shall fill it, Monsieur l'Abbé--it is promised." Unfortunately, the outcome of this promise was very deep offence to a very worthy man--so deep, that the Abbé was almost estranged from my husband, as you shall hear. Every detail of the events of our wedding-day is as clearly defined in my memory as if it were but a recollection of yesterday. It was a brilliant day, and all the town seemed as gay and as happy as we. Still, there was one little matter of regret--our balloon trip must be postponed for a little while, for M. Jules Godard had had an apoplectic fit three days before, and was not yet recovered. This the Abbé did not know. The service, which was short, had finished, and we were in our carriage--indeed, Flammarion was in the act of closing the door--when a vigorous hand seized the bridegroom's and a joyous voice cried, "And I also?" It was the Abbé. In the confusion of our happiness we had quite forgotten that he was to accompany us to the breakfast--to which, as a matter of fact, he had been the first person invited. The Abbé entered the carriage with no more ceremony, installed himself comfortably, and carefully deposited a travelling bag on the seat before him. [Illustration: MADAME FLAMMARION (AT THE TIME OF THE WEDDING). _From a Photo. by Dagron, Paris._]