She was wrapped in the delicious reverie of the wedding-day. She was
not yellow nor meagre, nor uglier than herself, as so many brides
contrive to be. Her air of delicacy and tenderness was a blossom of
character, not a canker of ill-health. Her color was hardly raised,
though her head was perpetually bent. Fortnoye, holding her on his
firm arm, seemed like a man walking through enchantments. Just behind,
protecting Madame Kranich with an action of effusive gallantry that
must have been seen to be conceived, walked the baron de Rouviere,
his brave knotted hands, for which he had not found any gloves, busily
occupied in pointing out the animated rarities that to him seemed most
worthy of selection. The hilarious hyenas, the seals, the polar bears
plunging from their lofty rocks, all attracted his commendation; and
we, who walked behind in such order as our friendships or familiarity
taught us, were perpetually tripping upon his honest figure brought to
a halt before some object more than usually interesting. Exclamations
of delight at the bride's beauty, politely wrapped in whispers, arose
on all sides as we penetrated the throng: it was a proud thing to be
a part of a procession so distinguished. My good Joliet beamed with
complacency, and drove his little herd up and down and across and
about till the greater part of the garden was explored. The zoological
garden of Brussels has the beauty of not showing too obviously the
character of a prison.
Pages:
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45