"Oh, I so wonder what is inside," said Gertrude.
May Ingram's gift was unique; a mahogany box, inlaid with the rare edelweiss, encasing a Swiss phonograph, that was adjusted to play "Elsa's Dream Song" from Lohengrin on Gertrude's marriage anniversary, till her golden wedding should occur.
Next morning after the sun had gilded the domes and spires of Paris, the Harrises sat at breakfast in a private room, fragrant with fresh cut flowers. Gertrude wore at her throat her lover's gift, and she never looked prettier or happier. All the morning till 11 o'clock everybody was busy, when the ushers and friends began to arrive. Soon came the American ambassador, his wife and children. At 11:45 a bishop of New York City, Claude Searles of London, and intimate friends of the Harrises and George Ingram followed, till the private parlors were full.
The orchestra of twenty pieces of Grand Opera House, stationed in the reception hall, played the "Largo" of Handel. In the third parlor from the ceiling were suspended ropes or garlands of smilax and bride's roses, which formed a dainty canopy. White satin ribbons festooned on two rows of potted marguerites made a bridal pathway direct from the foot of the stairway to the dais beneath the canopy.
On the low platform stood the bishop and the manly bridegroom expectant, when a voice at the foot of the stairway, accompanied by three instruments, sang the Elsa's Dream Song. The wedding party came downstairs as the orchestra played Wagner's Wedding March. The bride was dressed in duchess satin of soft ivory tone, the bodice high and long sleeves, with trimming of jewelled point lace. The bridesmaids wore pale yellow cloth, with reveres and cuffs of daffodil yellow satin and white Venetian point. Mrs. Harris wore a gown of heliotrope brocaded silk, trimmed with rich lace and a bodice of velvet.
The wedding party took their places and Mme. Melba accompanied by piano, harp, and violin sang Gounod's "Ave Maria."
The bishop addressed a few earnest words to the couple before him, spoke of responsibilities and obligations, and then the formal questions of marriage, in distinct voice, were put to George and Gertrude.
Mr. and Mrs. George Ingram received hearty congratulations. The guests retired to the banquet hall where breakfast was served. One table with marguerites was reserved for bride and bridegroom, ushers, and bridesmaids. Before the breakfast was ended the bride and bridegroom had escaped, but soon returned, the bride in a traveling gown of blue cloth. Volleys of rice followed the bridal pair, and more rice pelted the windows of the coach as it drove to the express train which was to convey the happy pair to Fontainebleau for a day, and thence into Switzerland. In the evening Colonel Harris entertained a large party of friends at the new opera house. The Harrises next morning left for southern France.
Before the marriage day George and Gertrude had carefully provided in Paris for the welfare of May Ingram whom both loved. And well they might, for May had a noble nature, and her music teachers in Boston, who had exerted their best efforts in her behalf, believed that she possessed rare talents, which, if properly developed, would some day make her conspicuous in the American galaxy of primadonnas.
They had secured for May sunny rooms at a pension in the Boulevard Haussmann, where a motherly French woman resided with her two daughters. In beautiful Paris, May Ingram was to live and study, hoping to realize the dreams of her childhood, a first rank in grand opera.