the hotel de Grandlieu. The congratulations came from the
four witnesses, and the men present; the tears were in the eyes of the
Duchesse de Grandlieu and her daughter Clotilde, who both trembled under
the weight of the same thought,--

"She is launched upon the sea of life! Poor Sabine! at the mercy of a
man who does not marry entirely of his own free will."

Marriage is not wholly made up of pleasures,--as fugitive in that
relation as in all others; it involves compatibility of temper, physical
sympathies, harmonies of character, which make of that social necessity
an eternal problem. Marriageable daughters, as well as mothers, know the
terms as well as the dangers of this lottery; and that is why women weep
at a wedding while men smile; men believe that they risk nothing, while
women know, or very nearly know, what they risk.

In another carriage, which preceded the married pair, was the Baronne du
Guenic, to whom the duchess had said at parting,--

"You are a mother, though you have only had one son; try to take my
place to my dear Sabine."

On the box of the bridal carriage sat a _chasseur_, who acted as
courier, and in the rumble were two waiting-maids. The four postilions
dressed in their finest uniforms, for each carriage was drawn by four
horses, appeared with bouquets on their breasts and ribbons on their
hats, which the Duc de Grandlieu had the utmost difficulty in making
them relinquish, even by bribing them with money. The French postilion
is eminently intelligent, but he likes his fun. These fellows took their
bribes and replaced their ribbons at the barrier.

"Well, good-bye, Sabine," said the duchess; "remember your promise;
write to me often. Calyste, I say nothing more to you, but you
understand me."

Clotilde, leaning on the youngest sister Athenais, who was smiling to
the Vicomte de Grandlieu, cast a reflecting look through her tears at
the bride, and followed the carriage with her eyes as it disappeared
to the clacking of four whips, more noisy than the shots of a pistol
gallery. In a few minutes the gay convoy had reached the esplanade of
the Invalides, the barrier of Passy by the quay of the Pont d'Iena, and
were fairly on the high-road to Brittany.

Is it not a singular thing that the artisans of Switzerland and Germany,
and the great families of France and England should, one and all, follow
the custom of setting out on a journey after the marriage ceremony?
The great people shut themse