"It is the easiest, at any rate," said Eugene.
"To those to whom it comes," said the Frenchman; "the materialism of our day stifles inspiration; men see only in rocks and stones a moneyed value. Niagara is valued less than a mill-turning stream. Inspiration is no longer believed in."
. . . . . .
The wedding-day approached, and all were busy trying to make a show of gladness, which, however, they but imperfectly succeeded in effecting; but what was wanting in hilarity was more than compensated for in dignity and magnificence. M. de Villeneuve acted as groomsman, Annie and Hester as bridesmaids, Euphrasie excused herself on account of her mourning habit, which she declined to remove; she was not visible during the whole day and one or two subsequent ones. And now the hour was come which was to place a coronet on that fair brow; but could the courtly bridegroom have seen how little he entered into the thoughts of his young bride, perchance he had been but half pleased, even though she was as stately and as fair as his great pride demanded. But love, esteem, or mutual respect entered into the thoughts of neither during the time that the Bishop of Chichester was marrying them by special license, in the drawing-room at Estcourt Hall.
This same arrangement was a great disappointment to the townspeople. They had been desirous of witnessing the ceremony, and were not well-pleased that the duke had not honored the church with his presence. The duke, however, liked not to be gazed at, and the sight-seers had no opportunity of gratifying their curiosity till the bridal party left the house.
The public entrance was besieged by expectant congratulators, who waited to shower bouquets over the blooming bride. But here again they were doomed to disappointment; for, to avoid this publicity, which was distasteful to them, the bridal party walked through that portion of the splendid grounds which had been specially decorated for the occasion, and entered their carriages at the opposite side of the park. They were, however, obliged to pass through part of the town, and shouts of "they come—they come!" resounded as the carriages made their appearance. The road lay down a deep hollow, on the turn leading to which stood a small inn. The road was so steep that the drivers necessarily checked the horses, in order to pass safely down the declivity. At the cry raised of "they come [{46}]—they come!" a woman elegantly dressed ran out of the inn, and gazed wildly at the carriages. At that moment the duke put his head out of the window to see what occasioned the delay, caught the eye of the woman, turned pale, and hastily bade the coachman drive on.
The woman shrieked, rather than said, "Tis he! O my God!" and fell to the ground in a fainting fit.
The bystanders raised her—the carriage passed; but the spirit of the crowd seemed changed, they scarcely knew why; they crowded round the woman; they questioned her; and each seemed eager to afford her help. But, as soon as her strength permitted, she withdrew without gratifying their evident curiosity, merely apologizing for her passing weakness, and deliberately saying she would recover best when alone. The style, the manner, the elegance of the stranger interested them all, and with difficulty did they persuade themselves to abandon their inquiries. The groups which had collected to congratulate the bride were now occupied in discussing the appearance of the stranger, and many surmises were hazarded as to her connection with the newly wedded pair.
Meantime that lady ordered a post-chaise to be got ready, and, ere half recovered, entered it, to the great discomfiture of the gaping crowd, whom she thus left to their conjectures.
The landlord was now besieged with questions, but he could tell nothing of importance. The lady came the previous evening; gave her name as Mrs. Ellwood; made many inquiries concerning the family at Estcourt Hall, and had the duke's person described to her; seemed restless, agitated; went out, and hovered round Mr. Godfrey's residence till nightfall; then returned and locked herself immediately in her bed-chamber. In the morning she rose late, ate little or nothing, but sat watching and listening intently, till she issued forth to enact the scene described. The townspeople shook their heads, and wished Miss Godfrey, now the Duchess of Durimond, might not be the worse for it. Adelaide had been very popular among them, and the public festivities on the occasion of her wedding were not so mirthful as, but for this incident, they would you have been.