Nothing had happened, so far as the club knew. The Countess's position
was secure; Montbarry's resolution to be her husband was unshaken.
They were both Roman Catholics, and they were to be married at
the chapel in Spanish Place. So much the Doctor discovered about them--
and no more.

On the day of the wedding, after a feeble struggle with himself,
he actually sacrificed his patients and their guineas, and slipped
away secretly to see the marriage. To the end of his life,
he was angry with anybody who reminded him of what he had done on
that day!

The wedding was strictly private. A close carriage stood at
the church door; a few people, mostly of the lower class, and mostly
old women, were scattered about the interior of the building.
Here and there Doctor Wybrow detected the faces of some of his
brethren of the club, attracted by curiosity, like himself.
Four persons only stood before the altar--the bride and bridegroom
and their two witnesses. One of these last was an elderly woman,
who might have been the Countess's companion or maid; the other
was undoubtedly her brother, Baron Rivar. The bridal party
(the bride herself included) wore their ordinary morning costume.
Lord Montbarry, personally viewed, was a middle-aged military man
of the ordinary type: nothing in the least remarkable distinguished
him either in face or figure. Baron Rivar, again, in his way was
another conventional representative of another well-known type.
One sees his finely-pointed moustache, his bold eyes,
his crisply-curling hair, and his dashing carriage of the head,
repeated hundreds of times over on the Boulevards of Paris.
The only noteworthy point about him was of the negative sort--