The Temptress

"May she ever imitate the holy women of former times, and may the Evil One have no share in her actions." The nuptial blessing was droned monotonously in French by a stout rubicund priest, who wore soiled and crumpled vestments. The scene was strange and impressive. Upon a tawdry altar, in a small bare chapel, two candles flickered unsteadily. The gloomy place was utterly devoid of embellishment, with damp-stained, white-washed walls, a stone floor, dirty and uneven, and broken windows patched with paper. Over the man and woman kneeling at the steps the priest outstretched his hands, and pronounced the benediction. When he had concluded a gabbled exhortation and premonishment, they rose. The weary-eyed man regained his feet quickly, gazing a trifle sadly at his companion, while the latter, with a scarcely perceptible sigh, got up slowly, and affectionately embraced her newly-wedded husband.