the details of the ceremony would be simply impossible. All I knew was that my Meda was my own, my very own wife; I knew that I felt the happiest and the proudest man on earth. I knew that a little modest villa was allotted to us. I felt a king amongst men, knowing as I did, that I had secured the queen of women.
We lived in our little house for some months in the most supreme happiness, Meda devoting her time to instructing me in modern history, in modern languages, in modern art, and in music. Her love and devotion made me an apt pupil. How sweet is that instruction that is breathed to you as it were, wrapped in love. Each word, each idea, each thought, is clad with a pleasure that makes all sweet and acceptable. No matter how the subjects may differ, no matter how the ideas may vary, no matter even if they be antagonistic, if they are but set in loving kindness they will be like a bouquet of flowers, all of distinct families, all of different colours, and perfumes, yet all indi-
