Motion Picture Story Magazine (Feb-Jul 1911)

112 THE MOTION PICTURE STORY MAGAZINE Seize happiness while you can. There's many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip, you know." To Clara the words sounded ominous. She forgot to be stately. She commenced to be tearful. Something, she did not know what, reminded her of Ralph. It seemed strange to see all the familiar faces and his not among them. "I'm frightened, father," she whispered. "Somehow, I don't feel a bit like being a Countess." "Nonsense," laughed the Colonel. "You wouldn't want to show the white feather now, would you ? Think of the Count's beautiful manners." "Yes, father, the Count is — oh, that beard — that mustache — those eyes ! — I can't get used to them. He looks so black. He frightens me sometimes. He never laughs. He just talks love, love, love, and sometimes he is really fierce." The Colonel tried hard to conceal his amusement. "Oh, pshaw !" he exclaimed, "you're nervous, that's all. The fellow is all right. I never saw a foreigner I liked so well. You'll get over your stage fright after the ceremony is over. Now, are we all ready ?" turning to the waiting line of bridesmaids and ushers; "then let's start." The Count, attended by a stalwart member of the 'Varsity football team, was waiting, with the minister, before a bower of palms. The bridal party took their places and the ceremony commenced. "I take thee, Clara " The voice sounded suspiciously like Ralph's. It was ominous. Clara trembled. Her own replies became almost inaudible. She was almost repentant and she could hardly suppress the tears. But the minister was steadily proceeding with the solemn service and the stillness was intense. Suddenly there seemed to be some confusion outside, in the hall. The benediction was almost hurried. As the final words were spoken the Colonel quickly stepped forward, grasped his new son-in-law's hand, and fondly kissed the bride. Congratulations were in order, and the crowd pressed forward. "Rah, rah," commenced the college men, who had been let into the secret, but there Avas a sudden scattering of the guests. A short, black-bearded, mustached, wild-eyed individual dashed into the room. "Stop it — stop it !" he cried, breathlessly. He waved his hands wildly. He tore his hair and beat his breast. "Eet eez ze mistake terrible. I am ze real Count. Eet eez intrigue. Parbleu ! Ze villain !" he fairly squealed, in a high falsetto, pointing toward the towering bridegroom. One of the bridesmaids screamed. The matron of honor giggled. "Take him away — take him away," moaned poor Clara, hiding her face against her husband's arm. Down on his knees went the little, impecunious Count. He told of his love — his hopeless passion. He implored mercy. In vain the Colonel thundered his commands. The guests inclined to think the scene a special vaudeville arranged for their entertainment, were convulsed with laughter. "Ze petite danseuse," screamed the little man, stretching his arms adoringly toward the bride. "Cut it " roared the newly-made benedict. "You villian — knave — you " with a scream of rage the infuriated Count leaped toward his successful rival. Then there was something like a football scrimmage and the real Count quickly found that he was no match for the bogus one. "Ze gendarmes, ze gendarmes " screamed the fallen one, struggling to his feet and again making frantic attempts to reach the bridegroom. That gentleman seemed to be enjoying the situation immensely. "I — I am ze Count de Barbes!" shrilled the little man, hopping about and looking not unlike a lively ape. "I come for the danseuse. She must be mine — Oh, Mon Dieu ! Ze barrels of monee "