Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. Gerald took Madame’s hand and kissed the fingers with a little more warmth than punctilio demanded. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. “If I didn’t love you better than myself,” said Capes, “I wouldn’t fence like this with you. By this time, Jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the populace,—his exploits having become the universal theme of discourse, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds collected to obtain a view of him. .
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