“Exactly, madam; that is what we did precisely, for we are married!”
Need I dwell upon the surprise and astonishment of this announcement? The Bishop—fortunately it was in Spanish—uttered something very like an oath. The bride blushed—some of the ladies looked shocked—the men shook hands with me, and the Prince, saluting Donna Maria with a most hearty embrace, begged to say “that the lady would be very welcomely received in Paris, since it was the only drawback to my appointment as an ambassador—that I was unmarried.”
Here I have done,—not that my Confessions are exhausted, but that I fear my reader's patience may be; I may, however, add that this was not the only “Spanish marriage” in which I had a share,—that my career in greatness was not less eventful than my life in obscurity, and that I draw up at this stage, leaving it for the traveller to say if he should ever care hereafter to journey further with me.
THE END.