THE WEDDING.
The day of Suzanne’s wedding came, bringing with it no change for the
better in the home of the Barraus. Hostility still existed. Savin
was as usual sad at heart, and Catherine was visibly indifferent
and disdainful. She always dressed in excellent taste and in attire
that, however simple, accentuated her extraordinary beauty. Formerly
the D’Angerolles had known luxury and affluence, and Catherine had
inherited a becoming air of stateliness. Her dignity and grace made her
the acknowledged belle of the province.
As Savin gazed upon her he could not conceal his admiration, and gently
laying his hand on her shoulder he said: “Naughty little woman, you
have no equal if you would but consent to listen to reason.”
But Catherine remained mute and indifferent to his caress. Savin
courteously opened the door for her to pass out, and soon they were on
their way to the _fête_.
Any one seeing them as they walked together, he with his military air
and remarkable physique, and she enveloped in a white mantle which set
off her queenly figure to the best advantage, would have been tempted
to exclaim: “What a fine couple!” as indeed they were.
Before the blacksmith’s shop Fadard, with his hands in his pockets,
was whistling a hunter’s song. An expression of malice dominated his
features, but when the Barraus passed by he saluted them with a smile
that succeeded in its attempt to be sarcastic.
“Good-morning, Fadard,” returned Savin. “You seem in better spirits
than when I last saw you.”
Fadard said nothing, but he continued to smile in a supercilious
manner. Catherine glanced at him. Their eyes met and the young woman
read a sort of challenge in his look. He was ready to go to the
wedding, but he was waiting for Andoche, who had not yet completed his
toilet.
“Bah! how I hate water,” muttered Andoche. “The bother of going to
_fêtes_ is that one must souse in water. I never drink the stuff and I
heartily dislike to handle it. Thank fortune, I am ready,” he said at
length as he arranged his necktie. “Let’s be off.”
In front of the conjugal cottage many of the guests had assembled, and
a bevy of boys and girls merrily danced and frolicked on the green,
while the old fogies, calmly seated under the trees, discussed the
frivolity of the young and the wisdom of the old.
Within the cottage all was confusion. Nothing seemed to be in place.
The babel of voices and scampering of feet were fairly deafening. The
merrymakers continued to arrive. Two or three ancient carry-alls,
weighted down with village boys and girls who were shouting at the top
of their voices, drove up and discharged their load at the cottage
door. Greetings and embraces followed, and all gave themselves up to
the enjoyment of the hour.
The musicians finally came, and after drinking with Andoche, all fell
in line for the wedding-march to the Mayor’s office. It was a pretty
sight. Two hundred guests, walking two by two, followed the bride.
The head of the little procession passed the house of Monsieur Eugène
before the last pair started.
A wedding in the provinces is considered a great affair. The day
is given over to enjoyment. Business is suspended and the whole
countryside joins in the festivities. In this particular wedding
every one was interested, for the bride and groom were both popular
favorites. To be sure, many a girl thought Jacques a simpleton to
choose Suzanne, and many a lad declared Suzanne was throwing herself
away; but still the occasion was a serene and happy one. The church
service, as well as the ceremony at the Mayor’s, was successfully
performed. During the former, Savin quietly stood watching his wife,
whose face was cold and joyless.
As they left the church a young fellow who had been serving as
kitchen-boy in Paris set off some fire-crackers and hurled them down
before the bridal party. The village maidens were frightened at the
noise and feared their dresses would catch fire. But many laughed
as, accompanied by fireworks and listening to impromptu jests, the
procession returned to the cottage.
Near by, in the granary, a feast had been prepared. Twenty good
servants had been engaged to wait upon the guests. Suzanne’s
grandmother, a little woman with bright, sharp eyes, superintended
the banquet, and a better table was never spread in the Morvan. The
old lady ordered the waiters about with a martial air. As the party
approached, she despatched one of her aids to the kitchen.
“Ursule,” said she, “run to the kitchen and see if all is ready.”
The lusty, buxom girl addressed disappeared into the adjoining
apartment. And the kitchen! What a poem! Half hidden by blue smoke and
savory steam, a dozen cooks were preparing the most tempting viands.
An ox was roasting. All kinds of game, meats, vegetables, preserves,
fruits, sweetmeats, _hors d’œuvres_ and spices were abundantly
provided. Seven days of culinary labor had been consumed in the
preparation for the banquet, and nothing had been left undone to make
it a success. An appetizing odor filled the air, and every guest longed
to begin the feast. Those in the village who, in a spirit of economy,
had declined the invitation--not feeling inclined to contribute a
present--now regretted their action.
“How delicious and savory it smells,” said Mademoiselle Faillot, who
had declined the invitation. “Dear! dear! if I had only known such a
princely feast was to be prepared, I certainly should have accepted.
But perhaps it is not yet too late. I will try.”
As the wedding party approached, she planted herself in the road. She
was an ugly-looking, avaricious, cunning woman; but she knew well how
to dissemble, and as the bride advanced, her face was wreathed in
patronizing smiles.
“My dear Suzanne,” said she, “how beautiful you are. I knew you would
make a pretty bride, but you are simply lovely--a hundred times beyond
my expectations.”
“You are very kind, Mademoiselle Léocadia,” returned Suzanne, blushing
with pleasure.
“Yes, indeed. You far surpass our last bride, Jeanne, in loveliness.
And yet you know how everybody raved about her.”
“How is it that you are not one of the merrymakers?” asked Madame
Percier, the groom’s mother.
“Well, I was afraid I should be obliged to go to Château Chinon to-day;
but my cousin did my errand for me. If I had only known----”
“You would have accepted,” anticipated Suzanne.
“Yes, but you see I refused the _dragée_----”
“Oh, never mind that,” said the bride graciously. “Pray come to the
banquet.”
“No, thank you kindly, but I made a stupid mistake, and I must abide by
it. I should have dearly loved to see you beside Jacques and to have
admired you in the dance, but I must respect the custom in regard to
weddings.”
“The custom! Pooh! Come, come, Mademoiselle, you must join us,” said
Jacques as he gently took her arm. “Here is Mademoiselle Léocadia who
is going to dine with us,” cried he to the rest. Mademoiselle Faillot
protested in a hypocritical manner, inwardly elated the while at the
success of her manœuvre.
Reaching the granary the tables were soon filled, and Léocadia
found herself occupying a seat of honor near the bride and groom.
Her flattery had proven effective, as it usually did, and the day’s
enjoyment was secured to her. When, however, Suzanne’s grandmother
saw Mademoiselle Faillot so comfortably settled she looked somewhat
disappointed.
“I feared she would try to get in some way--the viper,” was the old
lady’s observation. But there was nothing to be done about it.
The feast was a grand success. Everybody ate and drank to his or her
heart’s content, and the quantity of wine consumed loosened the tongues
of all present to such an extent that for a while the place was a very
good imitation of a pandemonium.
At length Suzanne rose and addressed the company.
“Who wants to dance?” she loudly inquired.
Immediately fifty boys and girls, among them Catherine, Sidonie,
Félicité, and Jeanne, pressed forward.
“My old grandmother danced at my marriage,” said Grandma Marion, “and I
will take a turn out of compliment to my little Suzanne.”
And the agile, bright little old woman kept her word, amid the applause
of all present. Fadard, the worse off for wine, approached Catherine to
ask for the first dance.
“Madame,” said he, “will you polka with me?”
“I cannot say, Monsieur. You must ask my husband.”
“Oh, come, come.”
“You are surprised, it seems. Isn’t my husband the master?”
“Yes, of course. But I supposed it hardly would be necessary to ask
permission for----”
“You were wrong, then.”
“Very well, I will go and ask your husband.”
And turning on his heel, Andoche’s friend started in quest of Savin,
with a sinister expression on his face.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]