At ten minutes to noon the Vicomte arrived, with Eloise on his arm. How charming she looked, in that simple, old-fashioned wedding-gown which she had made for herself! And how charming the Vicomte was, insisting on being introduced to everyone, chatting, laughing, immeasurably above everyone else, yet suffusing the wedding-party with his own grace and greatness so that everyone felt elevated instead of dwarfed!
And I never have been able to determine in my mind whether it was natural goodness, or just gentility polished to its keenest edge, that made this old libertine so lovable.
After the ceremony carriages conveyed the wedding-party to the Café Royale in the Boulevard St. Michel.
The Vicomte had, through Beril, made all arrangements; and in a room flower-decked, and filled with the sunlight and sounds of the boulevard, we sat down to déjeûner.
Scarcely had we begun than the waiters announced two gentlemen, at the same time handing the Vicomte de Chatellan two cards. "Show them up," said my guardian, "and lay two more covers."
It was the great Carvalho, who, hearing indirectly from my guardian of the marriage, had come, bringing with him the director of the Opera.
You may be sure we made room for them. And what a good omen it seemed—better than a flight of white doves—these two well-fed, prosperous, commonplace individuals, who held the music of France in their hands, and the laurel-wreaths!
They did not stay long, just long enough to pay their compliments and drink success to the bride and bridegroom.
Just before departing, Carvalho whispered to me: "His opera is accepted. He will hear officially to-morrow. It will be produced in April, or, at latest, May."