Félicité rose quietly and went to the kitchen for a moment, coming back
with a plate of minced rabbit for her father-in-law. "_Voilà_, papa,"
she said gently, and the old man stopped poking at the flies in his
cider with his fork and began to eat.
Suddenly, in his evident agony, Joyselle again looked at Brigit, and all
her misery of suspense and curiosity flew to her eyes. "What is it?"
they asked him. "Why are you tortured, and why are you torturing me who
love you?"
He looked long at her, and then seeing her sympathetic suffering and her
passion of wounded love, his face cleared, and for the first time that
day he looked like himself.
He began talking, and in a few moments was making everyone at the table
roar with laughter.
Brigit, though deeply relieved, was more puzzled than ever. "I want to
talk to you after dinner," she said, leaning towards him, and he bowed.
"I, too, have things to say to you, my dear," he answered, and they were
both wildly happy.
Then the Mayor rose, and in short and stereotyped phrase drank to the
health of the bride and groom.
The bridegroom had fallen asleep and was not wakened, but the bride
bowed with some dignity.
"M. le curé--will you say a few words?" asked Victor courteously.
The old priest rose in obedience to the summons, and murmured a kind of
blessing on the two he had joined together in his own youth. He
remembered them both very well as they had been in that day; far better
than he could in the days of their middle age. Now their three lives
were nearly over: "We are all very old," he faltered, fumbling at his
snuff-box, "very old----"
Someone outside thought he had finished and began to clap. He sat down
abashed, and took snuff to hide his confusion. Yes, they were all very
old.
The meal ended at length with coffee, calvados, a local liqueur, and
cheese.
"You are tired, my daughter?" asked Félicité, as Brigit frowned with
impatience.
"Yes, _petite mère_."
Félicité, who for the last half hour had been fanning the sleeping
bridegroom to keep off the flies, sighed.
"It is very warm. Why not go? They will clear the table and dance on the
grass, I think."
Everyone left the arbour except her and the old man, and Brigit, feeling
that Joyselle was close on her heels, went into the house and into the
sitting-room.