on, lent themselves naturally to adornment; and I
found myself wondering what former festivities they had sheltered, what
other brides had passed down this stately corridor before the bombs let
in the wind and the rain and the thieves; and what remote luxuries had
been reflected in the great mirror of which only the carved gilt frame
was left? Today, goldenrod and asters bloomed against the mouldy walls
and one little tri-colored bouquet. Flowers of France, in truth, sprung
on the battle field and offered by earth-stained fingers to her who had
served.

From the kitchen came noises of snapping wood, and a sizzling which
tempted me to the door. It was a fine old kitchen, though now the tiles
were mostly gone from the floor, and the cracked walls were smeared with
uncouth paintings, the work of some childish soul--some German mess
sergeant, perhaps, who had been installed there, but today Jeanne
reigned again, bending her philosophic face over the smoking stove, and
evoking with infallible arts aromatic and genial vapors from her
casseroles. At her side, Therese, pink and cream in the abundance of her
eighteen years, fanned the fire, her eyes wide open with the novel
excitement of the occasion.

"_La guerre est finie, Mademoiselle Miss!_" cried Jeanne with spoon
dripping in mid air. "Today I have butter to cook with. Now you shall
taste a French dinner _comme il faut_!"

In the garage, Michel, all seriousness, polished the Ford that was to
carry away the bridal pair. Recently demobilized, he wore the bizarre
combination of military and civilian clothes that all over France
symbolized the transition from war to peace--black coat encroaching upon
stained blue trousers, khaki puttees, evidence of international intimacy
and--most brilliant emblem of freedom--a black and white checked cap,
put on backwards. His the ultimate responsibility at our wedding
ceremony and he looked to his tires and sparkplugs with passion.

The married sister, beautiful and charming in her Paris gown, was
superintending the _toilette_; and when all was ready, we were called
up to examine and admire. The bride was sweet and calm, smiling dreamily
at us in the foggy fragment of mirror. Below, somewhat portly and
constrained in his black coat and high collar, the bridegroom marched
with agitation back and forth in the corridor, clasping and unclasping
his hands in their gray suede gloves. The Paris train was due. Relatives
and friends began to arri