d acquaintance. On a fine spring morning
a caleche and a coupe, drawn by Limousin horses chosen by Monsieur
Grossetete, drew up at eleven o'clock before the shop of the
iron-dealer, bringing, to the great excitement of the neighborhood,
the former partners of the bridegroom and the latter's two clerks.
The street was lined with spectators, all anxious to see the Sauviats'
daughter, on whose beautiful hair the most renowned hairdresser in
Limoges had placed the bridal wreath and a costly veil of English
lace. Veronique wore a gown of simple white muslin. A rather imposing
assemblage of the most distinguished women in the society of the town
attended the wedding in the cathedral, where the bishop, knowing the
religious fervor of the Sauviats, deigned to marry Veronique himself.
The bride was very generally voted plain.

She entered her new house, and went from one surprise to another. A
grand dinner was to precede the ball, to which Graslin had invited
nearly all Limoges. The dinner, given to the bishop, the prefect, the
judge of the court, the attorney-general, the mayor, the general, and
Graslin's former partners with their wives, was a triumph for the bride,
who, like all other persons who are simple and natural, showed charms
that were not expected in her. Neither of the bridal pair could dance;
Veronique continued therefore to do the honors to her guests, and to win
the esteem and good graces of nearly all the persons who were presented
to her, asking Grossetete, who took an honest liking to her, for
information about the company. She made no mistakes and committed no
blunders. It was during this evening that the two former partners of the
banker announced the amount of the dowry (immense for Limousin) given
by the Sauviats to their daughter. At nine o'clock the old iron-dealer
returned home and went to bed, leaving his wife to preside over the
bride's retiring. It was said by everyone throughout the town that
Madame Graslin was very plain, though well made.

Old Sauviat now wound up his business and sold his house in town. He
bought a little country-place on the left bank of the Vienne between
Limoges and Cluzeau, ten minutes' walk from the suburb of Saint-Martial,
where he intended to finish his days tranquilly with his wife. The old
couple had an apartment in the hotel Graslin and always dined once or
twice a week with their daughter, who, as often, made their house in the
country the object of her walks.

This