Even as she spoke Cornelia entered.  There was a little flush and hurry on her face; but oh, how innocent and joyous it was!  Quick-glancing, sweetly smiling, she entered the musky, scented parlour, and in her white robe and white hat stood like a lily in its light and gloom.  And when she turned to Hyde an ineffable charm and beauty illumed her countenance.  “How glad I am to see you!” she said, and the very ring of gladness was in her voice.  “And how strange that we should meet here!”

“That is so,” replied Madame Jacobus.  “One can never see where the second little bird comes from.”

“Am I late, madame?  Surely your clock is wrong.”

“My clock is never wrong, Cornelia, A Dutch clock will always go just about so.  Come, now, sit down, and let us talk of such follies as weddings and wedding gowns.”

In this conversation Hyde triumphantly redeemed his promise of assistance.  He could describe with a delightful accuracy—­or inaccuracy—­ the lovely toilets and pretty accessories of the high English wedding feasts of the previous year.  And in some subtle way he threw into these descriptions such a glamour of romance, such backgrounds of old castles and chiming bells, of noble dames glittering with gems, and village maids scattering roses, of martial heroes, and rejoicing lovers, all moving in an atmosphere of song and sunshine, that the little party sat listening, entranced, with sympathetic eyes drinking in his wonderful descriptions.

Madame Jacobus was the first to interrupt these pretty reminiscences.  “All this is very fine,” she said, “but the most of it is no good for us.  The satin and the lace and even the gems, we can have; the music can be somehow managed, and we shall not make a bad show as to love and beauty.  But castles and lords and military pomp, and old cathedrals hung with battle flags—­ Such things are not to be had here, and, in plain truth, they are not necessary for the wedding of a simple maid like our Arenta.”

“You forget, then, that my Athanase is of almost royal descent,” said Arenta.  “A very old family are the Tounnerres—­older, indeed, than the royal Capets.”

“No one is to-day so poor as to envy the royal Capets; and as for an ancient family, Captain Jacobus used to speak of his forefathers as ’the old fellows whom the flood could not wash away.’  Jacobus always put his ideas in such clear, forcible words.  What I want to know is this—­where is the ceremony to be performed?”

“The civil ceremony is to be at the French Embassy,” answered Arenta with some pride.

“Is that all there is to it?”

“Aunt!  How could you imagine that I should be satisfied with a civil ceremony?  My father also insists upon a religious ceremony; and my Athanase told him he was willing to marry me in every church in America.  I am not Gertrude Kippon!  No, indeed!  I insist on everything being done in a moral and respectable manner.  My father spoke of Doctor Kunz for the religious part.”