Is there any news of our English friend, Mr. Grigg?

This letter is from my secretary. He says, "The brigands had moved their camp, so I have had great difficulty in finding your friend."

Then that accounts for Mr. Grigg's not having returned in time for our wedding.

Precisely.

But we brought on his luggage from the hotel.

And discharged Mr. Grigg's bill. Ransom paid, bill settled. So, attended by my secretary and free from all responsibility, he can come on with his wife.

His wife! Not the chieftainess!

No. His genuine wife - the prima donna herself - not the "understudy." Mrs. Grigg travelled from England to meet him, and my secretary informs me that a first-rate courier is personally conducted them straight here.

How glad she must have been to see her husband again. Fancy my being separated from you!

Or you from me! But why think of such a thing during our honeymoon!

Our honeymoon! It seems only yesterday that I was at school.

Au Couvent des Oiseaux.

In Paris.

Were we met for the first time.

And as you were Spanish -

And as you were English -

We both hit on the happy idea of conversing in French -

So that none of the Parisian visitors could possibly understand us.