“It is nothing—­a mere fancy of mine.  I hate red roses!  They look to me like human blood in flower!”

She shuddered slightly.

“What a horrible idea!  How can you think of such a thing?”

I made no response, but assisted her into the carriage with elaborate care and courtesy; then entering it myself, we drove together back to the hotel, where the wedding breakfast awaited us.

This is always a feast of general uneasiness and embarrassment everywhere, even in the sunny, pleasure-loving south; every one is glad when it is over, and when the flowery, unmeaning speeches and exaggerated compliments are brought to a fitting and happy conclusion.  Among my assembled guests, all of whom belonged to the best and most distinguished families in Naples, there was a pervading atmosphere of undoubted chilliness:  the women were dull, being rendered jealous of the bride’s beauty and the richness of her white velvets and jewels; the men were constrained, and could scarcely force themselves into even the appearance of cordiality—­ they evidently thought that, with such wealth as mine, I would have done much better to remain a bachelor.  In truth, Italians, and especially Neapolitans, are by no means enthusiastic concerning the supposititious joys of marriage.  They are apt to shake their heads, and to look upon it as a misfortune rather than a blessing.  “L’altare e la tomba dell’ amore,” is a very common saying with us, and very commonly believed.

It was a relief to us all when we rose from the splendidly appointed table, and separated for a few hours.  We were to meet again at the ball, which was fixed to commence at nine o’clock in the evening.  The cream of the event was to be tasted then—­the final toasting of the bride was to take place then—­then there would be music, mirth and dancing, and all the splendor of almost royal revelry.  I escorted my wife with formal courtesy to a splendid apartment which had been prepared for her, for she had, as she told me, many things to do—­as, for instance, to take off her bridal robes, to study every detail of her wondrous ball costume for the night, and to superintend her maid in the packing of her trunks for the next day’s journey.  The next day!  I smiled grimly—­I wondered how she would enjoy her trip!  Then I kissed her hand with the most profound respect and left her to repose—­to refresh and prepare herself for the brilliant festivity of the evening.

Our marriage customs are not as coarse as those of some countries; a bridegroom in Italy thinks it scarcely decent to persecute his bride with either his presence or his caresses as soon as the Church has made her his.  On the contrary, if ardent, he restrains his ardor—­he forbears to intrude, he strives to keep up the illusion, the rose-colored light, or rather mist, of love as long as possible, and he has a wise, instinctive dread of becoming overfamiliar;