St. Martin's Eve: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

"Don't be careless, child. Put it on. You must wear it tonight."

"Oh no, no, mamma!" she returned, her cheek flushing. "Not tonight."

"What nonsense!" exclaimed her mother; "you are as shy as a young child. When the Baron presented it to me for you, he said, 'Un petit cadeau pour ce soir.' Clasp it on, Louise."

"Mamma," she implored, a great deal more energetically than Madame de Castella thought the case could demand, "do not oblige me to appear in this bracelet tonight."

"Adeline, I insist on its being worn. Persons who know you less well than we do, would suspect that affectation, more than delicacy, induced your refusal to wear a gift from one who will soon be your husband."

"Not my husband yet," faltered Adeline. "Not until next year."

"Indeed he will, Adeline," said Madame de Castella. "Before we go to the South."

Her colour came and went painfully. She sat down, gasping out rather than speaking, the words that issued from her white lips.

"We go to the South in two months!"

"Dear child," laughed Madame de Castella, "don't look so scared. There's no reason for it: a wedding is quite an everyday affair, I can assure you. This week I write to order your trousseau."