d. But if I had a daughter involved, I should wish
to know more than this. I should write, if I were you, to the Russian
embassy; they can tell you everything there.'

"You suppose, of course, that I went to the embassy. That is just what I
did not do; I was too careless, too blindly confident, too busy. I have
never been able in my whole life to do what I wished, for I have never
had any time; my whole existence has been too short for the half of
what I have wished to do. Tormented by my wife on the subject of this
additional information, I finished by lying, 'Yes, yes, I went there;
everything is satisfactory.' Since then I remember the singular air of
the comte each time he thought I was going to Paris; but at that time
I saw nothing; I was absorbed in the plans that my children were making
for their future happiness. They were to live with us three months in
the year, and to spend the rest of the time in St. Petersburg, where
Nadine was offered a government situation. My poor wife ended in sharing
my joy and satisfaction.

"The end of the winter passed in correspondence. The count's papers were
long in coming, his parents utterly refused their consent. At last
the papers came--a package of hieroglyphics impossible to
decipher,--certificates of birth, baptism, &c. That which particularly
amused us was a sheet filled with the titles of my future son-in-law,
Ivanovitch Nicolaevitch Stephanovitch.

"'Have you really as many names as that?' said my poor child, laughing;
'and I am only Madeleine Rivals.'

"There was at first some talk of the marriage taking place in Paris
with great pomp, but Nadine reflected that it was not wise to brave
the paternal authority on this point, so the ceremony took place at
Etiolles, in the little church where to this very day are to be seen the
records of an irreparable falsehood. How happy I was that morning as I
entered the church with my daughter trembling on my arm, feeling that
she owed all her happiness to me!

"Then, after mass, breakfast at the house, and the departure of the
bridal couple in a post-chaise--I can see them now as they drove away.

"The ones who go are generally happy; those who stay are sad enough.
When we took our seats at the table that night, the empty chair at our
side was dreary enough. I had business which took me out-of-doors; but
the poor mother was alone the greater part of the time, and her heart
was devoured by her regrets. Such is the destiny of wo