mayor, as he reached it, bowing right and left to the throng, the
sacristan pushing his way through the school children massed in two rows
on either side of the flower-strewn path, their hands filled with Louis'
blossoms; back of these the rest of the villagers--those who wanted to
see the procession, and crowding the doorway and well inside the aisles,
every soul who could claim admission for miles around. And then as we
passed under the old portal--through which, so the legend runs, strode
the Great Warrior surrounded by his knights (not a word of which do I
believe)--the small organ with a spasmodic jerk wheezed out a welcome
that went on increasing in volume until we had moved beneath the groined
arches and reached the altar. There we grouped ourselves in a
half-circle while the vows were pledged and the small gold ring was
slipped on Mignon's finger and Gaston had kissed Mignon; and Mignon had
kissed her new mother; and madame la marquise had taken both their hands
in her own and said how happy she was, and how she wished them all the
joy in the world. And then--and this was the crowning joy of the
ceremony--then, like the old cavalier he is, and can be when occasion
demands, Lemois stepped up and shook Gaston's hand, Mignon looking at
the old man with hungry, loving eyes until, unable to restrain herself
the longer, she threw her arms around his neck and burst into tears--and
so, with another wheeze of the organ, way was made and the homeward
march began.
It was high noon now--the warm spring sun in both their faces--Mignon on
Gaston's arm. And a fine and wholesome pair they made--good to look
upon, and all as it should and would oftener be if meddlesome cooks
could keep their fingers out of the social broth: she in her pretty
white muslin frock and veil, her head up, her eyes shining clear--she
didn't care now who saw; Gaston in his country-cut clothes (his muscles
would stretch them into lines of beauty before the week was out), his
new straw hat with its gay ribbon half shading his fine, strong young
face; his eyes drinking in everything about him--too supremely happy to
do more than walk and breathe and look.
Everything was ready for them at the Marmouset. Lemois had not been a
willing ally, but having once sworn allegiance he had gone over heart
and soul. The young people and their friends--as well as his
own--including the exalted lady and her band of conspirators, should
want for nothing at his hands.
Louis and Leà, as well as madame la marquise, were already inside the
Marmouset when the bride and groom arrived. More apple-blossoms
here--banks and festoons of them; the deep, winter-smoked fireplace
stuffed full; loops, bunches, and spirals hanging from the rafters, the
table a mass of ivory and pink, the white cloth with its dishes and
viands shining through.
Mignon's lip quivered as she passed the threshold, and all her old-time
shyness returned. This was not her place! How could she sit down and be
waited upon--she who had served all her life? But madame would have none
of it.
"To-morrow, my child, you can do as you choose; to-day you do as _I_
choose. You are not Mignon--you are the dear sweet bride whom we all
want to honor. Besides, love has made you a princess, or Monsieur
Herbert would not insist on your sitting in his own chair, which has
only held the nobility and persons of high degree, and which he has
wreathed in blossoms. And you will sit at the head of the table too,
with Gaston right next to you."
As grown-ups often devote themselves to amusing children--playing
blind-man's-buff, puss-in-the-corner, and Santa Claus--so did Herbert
and Louis, Le Blanc, Brierley, The Architect, madame, and the others lay
themselves out to entertain these simple people. Leà and Mignon, knowing
the ways of gentle-folk, soon forgot their shyness, as did Gaston, and
entered into the spirit of the frolic without question--but the stiff
old mother, and the lame uncle, and the aunts and cousins were sore
distressed, refusing more than a mouthful of food, their furtive glances
wandering over the queer figures and quaint objects of the
Marmouset--more marvellous than anything their eyes had ever rested on.
One by one, with this and that excuse, they stole away and stood
outside, their wondering eyes taking in the now quiet and satisfied Coco
and the appointments of the court-yard.
Soon only our own party and Leà and the bride and groom were left,
Lemois still the gracious host; madame pitching the key of the
merriment, Louis joining in--on his feet one minute, proposing the
health of the newly married couple; his glass filled from the contents
of the rare punch-bowl entwined with blossoms, which madame had given
the coterie the autumn before; paying profound and florid compliments
the while to madame la marquise; the next, poking fun at Herbert and Le
Blanc; having a glass of wine with Lemois and another with Gaston, who
stood up while he drank in his effort to play the double rôle of servant
and guest, and finally, shouting out that as this was to be the last
time any one would ever get a decent cup of coffee at the Inn, owing to
the cutting off in the prime of life of the high priestess of the
roaster--once known as the adorable Mademoiselle Mignon--that Madame
Gaston Duprè should take Lemois' place at the small table. "And may I
have the distinguished pleasure, madame"--at which the bride blushed
scarlet, and meekly did as she was bid, everybody clapping their hands,
including Lemois.
And it was in truth a pretty sight, one never to be forgotten: Gaston
devouring her with his eyes, and the fresh young girl spreading out her
white muslin frock as she settled into the chair which Louis had drawn
up for her, moving closer the silver coffee-pot with her small white
hands--and they were really very small and very pretty--dropping the
sugar she had cracked herself into each cup--"One for you, is it,
madame?"--and "Monsieur Herbert, did you say two?"--and all with a
gentle, unconscious grace and girlish modesty that won our hearts anew.
The snort and chug of Le Blanc's car, pushed close to the door, broke up
the picture and scattered the party. Le Blanc would drive the bridal
pair home himself--Gaston's mother and her relations having already been
whisked away in madame's motor, with Marc beside the chauffeur to see
them safely stowed inside their respective cabins.
But it was when the bride stepped into the car at the gate--or rather
before she stepped into it--that the real choke came in our throats.
Lemois had followed her out, standing apart, while Leà hugged and kissed
her and the others had shaken her hands and said their say; Louis
standing ready to throw Brierley's two big hunting-boots after the
couple instead of the time-honored slipper; Herbert holding the blossoms
and the others huge handfuls of rice burglarized openly from Pierre's
kitchen.
All this time Mignon had said nothing to Lemois, nor had she looked his
way. Then at last she turned, gazing wistfully at him, but he made no
move. Only when her slipper touched the foot-board did he stir, coming
slowly forward and looking into her eyes.
"You have been a good girl, Mignon," he said calmly.
She thanked him shyly and waited. Suddenly he bent down, took her cheeks
between his hands, kissed her tenderly on the forehead, and with bowed
head walked back into the Marmouset alone.
END.
BOOKS BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH
PUBLISHED BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
THE ARM-CHAIR AT THE INN. Illustrated _net_ $1.30
KENNEDY SQUARE. Illustrated 1.50
PETER. Illustrated 1.50
THE TIDES OF BARNEGAT. Illustrated 1.50
THE FORTUNES OF OLIVER HORN. Illustrated 1.50
THE ROMANCE OF AN OLD-FASHIONED GENTLEMAN. Illustrated 1.50
COLONEL CARTER'S CHRISTMAS. Illustrated 1.50
FORTY MINUTES LATE. Illustrated 1.50
THE WOOD FIRE IN NO. 3. Illustrated 1.50
THE VEILED LADY. Illustrated 1.50
AT CLOSE RANGE. Illustrated 1.50
THE UNDER DOG. Illustrated 1.50
End of Project Gutenberg's The Arm-Chair at the Inn, by F. Hopkinson Smith