The Clique of Gold
It was a week after Daniel's departure, a Wednesday, and about half- past eleven o'clock.
Some thirty carriages, the most elegant, by all means, that Paris could boast of, were
standing alongside of the Church of St. Clothilda. In the pretty little square before the
building, some hundred and fifty or two hundred idlers were waiting with open mouths.
The passers-by, noticing the crowd, went up and asked,--
"What is going on?"
"A wedding," was the answer.
"And a grand wedding, apparently."
"Why, the grandest thing you ever saw. It is a nobleman, and an immensely rich one, who
is going to be married,--Count Ville-Handry. He marries an American lady. They have
been in the church now for some time, and they will soon come out again."
Under the porch a dozen men, in the orthodox black costume, with yellow kid gloves, and
white cravats showing under their overcoats, evidently men belonging to the wedding-
party, were chatting merrily while they were waiting for the end of the ceremony. If they
were amused, they hardly showed it; for some made an effort to hide their yawning,
while others kept up a broken conversation, when a small coupe drove up, and stopped at
"Gentlemen," said a young man, "I announce M. de Brevan."
It was he really.
He stepped leisurely out of his carriage, and came up in his usual phlegmatic manner. He
knew the majority, perhaps, of the young men in the crowd; and so he commenced at
once shaking hands all around, and then said in an easy tone of voice,--
"Who has seen the bride?"
"I!" replied an old beau, whose perpetual smile displayed all the thirty-two teeth he owed
to the dentist.
"Well, what do you think of her?"
"She is always sublime in her beauty, my dear. When she walked up the aisle to kneel
down at the altar, a murmur of admiration followed her all the way. Upon my word of
honor, I thought they would applaud."
This was too much enthusiasm. M. de Brevan cut it short, asking,--