was really one
of the most imposing of the many processions they met on their way to
the municipality. Although the white dress of the bride was missing,
Madame Weber, in her quality of widow, wore a dress of brilliant blue
of that bright indigo shade so dear to persons who like solid colors;
a many-hued shawl was carefully folded on her arm, and a superb cap,
ornamented with ribbons and flowers, displayed her beaming peasant face.
She walked by the side of Belisaire's father, a little dried-up old man,
with a hooked nose and abrupt movements, and a perpetual cough that
his new daughter-in-law endeavored to soothe by rubbing his back with
considerable violence. These repeated frictions somewhat disturbed the
dignity of the wedding procession.

Belisaire came next, giving his arm to his sister, whose nose was as
hooked as her father's. Belisaire himself looked almost handsome; he led
by one hand Madame Weber's little child. Then came a crowd of relatives
and friends, and finally Jack, Madame de Barancy being unwilling to do
more than honor the wedding-dinner with her presence. This repast was to
take place at Vincennes.

When the train that brought the party reached the restaurant, the room
engaged by Belisaire was still occupied. This gave them time to look
at the lake and to amuse themselves with examining the crowd of
merrymakers. They were dancing and singing, playing blind-man's-buff and
innumerable other games; under the trees a girl was mending the flounces
of a bride's dress. O, those white dresses! With what joy those girls
let them drag over the lawn, imagining themselves for that one occasion
women of fashion. It is precisely this illusion that the people seek in
their hours of amusement: a pretence of riches, a momentary semblance of
the envied and happy of this earth.

Belisaire's party were too hungry to be gay, and they hailed with joy
the announcement that dinner was ready at last. The table was laid in
one of those large rooms whose walls were frescoed in faded colors, and
whose size was apparently increased by innumerable mirrors. At each
end of the table was a huge bouquet of artificial orange blossoms, a
centrepiece of pink and white sugar, and ornaments of the same, which
had officiated at many a wedding-dinner in the previous six months. They
took their seats in solemn silence, though Madame do Barancy had not yet
arrived.

The guests were somewhat intimidated by the black-coated waiters, who