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Baron Muckicza and I bowed to the red-faced damsels, with the German phrase, "Darf ich Ihnen meinen Arm bieten, mein Fräulein," to which they answered in classic Slavonian, "Gyekujem peknye mladi-pan," which means, "Thank you very much, young master." Then we went, per pedes apostolorum, to the shooting-box, Father Paphuntius, of course, accompanying us, to feast at the wedding banquet.
Your monk's cowl is a protection in itself. Don't look disconcerted; you can come back. Our revel does not end yet; it has hardly begun. You, Muckicza, my dear boy, go out and get in the boys. Tell them the hunt is over; the game has broken fence."
I keep here, concealed in my shooting-box, a priest a Capuchin monk Father Paphuntius. He seems to be a jolly good fellow, and he has an open hand. In the park there is a little memorial chapel, erected by one of my ancestors in honour of St. Vincent de Paul. In that chapel we will exchange vows. You and Muckicza shall be my witnesses.
I would take the ceremony bonâ fide, and play my part as naturally as possible. We drove through Siegfried's game-park, and at the cascades I was expected by Baron Muckicza, the other witness. "You are expected like the Messiah by the Jews," he cried, and leaped up to me without stopping the vehicle. "Cenni and Siegfried are in the chapel already."
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