but ere
they had gone many steps they perceived a group advancing towards them,
composed of the betrothed pair, a party of young girls in attendance on
the bride, by whose side walked Dantes' father; the whole brought up by
Fernand, whose lips wore their usual sinister smile.

Neither Mercedes nor Edmond observed the strange expression of his
countenance; they were so happy that they were conscious only of the
sunshine and the presence of each other.

Having acquitted themselves of their errand, and exchanged a hearty
shake of the hand with Edmond, Danglars and Caderousse took their places
beside Fernand and old Dantes,--the latter of whom attracted universal
notice. The old man was attired in a suit of glistening watered silk,
trimmed with steel buttons, beautifully cut and polished. His thin
but wiry legs were arrayed in a pair of richly embroidered clocked
stockings, evidently of English manufacture, while from his
three-cornered hat depended a long streaming knot of white and blue
ribbons. Thus he came along, supporting himself on a curiously carved
stick, his aged countenance lit up with happiness, looking for all the
world like one of the aged dandies of 1796, parading the newly opened
gardens of the Tuileries and Luxembourg. Beside him glided Caderousse,
whose desire to partake of the good things provided for the
wedding-party had induced him to become reconciled to the Dantes, father
and son, although there still lingered in his mind a faint and unperfect
recollection of the events of the preceding night; just as the brain
retains on waking in the morning the dim and misty outline of a dream.

As Danglars approached the disappointed lover, he cast on him a look of
deep meaning, while Fernand, as he slowly paced behind the happy pair,
who seemed, in their own unmixed content, to have entirely forgotten
that such a being as himself existed, was pale and abstracted;
occasionally, however, a deep flush would overspread his countenance,
and a nervous contraction distort his features, while, with an agitated
and restless gaze, he would glance in the direction of Marseilles, like
one who either anticipated or foresaw some great and important event.

Dantes himself was simply, but becomingly, clad in the dress peculiar to
the merchant service--a costume somewhat between a military and a civil
garb; and with his fine countenance, radiant with joy and happiness, a
more perfect specimen of manly beauty could scarcely b