The contents of the letter were as follows:—
"DEAR FRIEND,—Aunt Diodora has her nervous attack, and is dangerously ill. Pray make haste! Periculum, in mora. Bring your electro-magnetic apparatus with you, and come at once.—SIEGFRIED."
The gamekeeper had brought the letter, and said that he had strict orders to wait for me, if it was until midnight. So I despatched my business with the sheriff, gave orders for refreshments for him, and, going into my museum, I took out a watch of the Apafy period, with which I presented him, and made him perfectly happy. Then I picked out an antique opal bracelet, which Cenni had found exceptionally beautiful, and put it into my pocket as a present for the bride. I would take the ceremony bonâ fide, and play my part as naturally as possible.
We drove through Siegfried's game-park, and at the cascades I was expected by Baron Muckicza, the other witness. "You are expected like the Messiah by the Jews," he cried, and leaped up to me without stopping the vehicle. "Cenni and Siegfried are in the chapel already."
On arriving in front of the chapel, an old Gothic edifice, situated in a large clearing in the park, we alighted, and I ordered my coachman not to unhitch the horses, but to drive about, and wait for me at the gate in about an hour or more.
We opened the little gate that led to a large stone crucifix in front of the chapel, and found the vestry-clerk and a boy ministrant waiting for us in the entry. Now they tolled the bell hurriedly and briefly, and gave way to us.
Siegfried and Cenni met us in the chapel. He pressed my hand in evident excitement, assuring me of eternal friendship and gratitude for standing by his side at this turning-point of his life, whereupon I returned his protestations with equal feeling. The bride, in a dove-coloured travelling-dress, with a wreath of orange flowers in her blonde locks, and a costly lace shawl as a bridal veil, was an exquisite image of love and modesty. On seeing me she bashfully hid her face in her hands, exclaiming, "Oh! what will you think of me?" and to Siegfried, imploringly, "Pray let me go back to the house! My God, what a step you have persuaded me to! Pray let me go back; oh, pray do!" But Siegfried tenderly held her hands, and persuaded her to go to the good Father Paphuntius, who was awaiting her in the shriving-pew to receive the confession of her sins; for, as a good Catholic, she could not marry unshriven. So she simpered and blushed a good deal, and went away to where the Father, with clean-shaven face—evidently a Ligorian, not a Capuchin—received her with a benediction.
It was a splendid farce, and admirably acted by almost all the parties. There were two bridesmaids with somewhat rural complexions, and hands which seemed to swell out of their number seven white gloves, as did their robust waists from the tightly-laced silk bodices. Of course, we called them "Milady," and spoke French to them, although it was easy to guess that they were dairy and garden wenches, and the only language they understood or spoke was the Slavonic. They blushed and giggled a good deal, and did not feel very much at ease on our arms.
The ceremony took place in the most solemn and decorous way. Father Paphuntius delivered a very impressive sermon on domestic virtues and the fear of God leading to earthly happiness and eternal bliss. Bride and groom kneeled down before the altar and exchanged their vows, whereupon the priest bound their hands together and gave them his benediction.
My hand itched, and I could hardly keep from loudly applauding the acting priest or the preaching actor; but I did not forget that at least the place of comedy was really sacred, although profaned by a parcel of blasphemous roysterers, and so I held my peace and looked on.