.

The sound of sobs caused several people to look round. Madame Walter was
weeping, with her face buried in her hands. She had to give way. What
could she have done else? But since the day when she had driven from her
room her daughter on her return home, refusing to embrace her; since the
day when she had said, in a low voice, to Du Roy, who had greeted her
ceremoniously on again making his appearance: "You are the vilest
creature I know of; never speak to me again, for I shall not answer
you," she had been suffering intolerable and unappeasable tortures. She
hated Susan with a keen hatred, made up of exasperated passion and
heartrending jealousy, the strange jealousy of a mother and
mistress--unacknowledgable, ferocious, burning like a new wound. And now
a bishop was marrying them--her lover and her daughter--in a church, in
presence of two thousand people, and before her. And she could say
nothing. She could not hinder it. She could not cry out: "But that man
belongs to me; he is my lover. This union you are blessing is infamous!"

Some ladies, touched at the sight, murmured: "How deeply the poor mother
feels it!"

The bishop was declaiming: "You are among the fortunate ones of this
world, among the wealthiest and most respected. You, sir, whom your
talent raises above others; you who write, who teach, who advise, who
guide the people, you who have a noble mission to fulfill, a noble
example to set."

Du Roy listened, intoxicated with pride. A prelate of the Roman Catholic
Church was speaking thus to him. And he felt behind him a crowd, an
illustrious crowd, gathered on his account. It seemed to him that some
power impelled and lifted him up. He was becoming one of the masters of
the world--he, the son of two poor peasants at Canteleu. He saw them all
at once in their humble wayside inn, at the summit of the slope
overlooking the broad valley of Rouen, his father and mother, serving
the country-folk of the district with drink, He had sent them five
thousand francs on inheriting from the Count de Vaudrec. He would now
send them fifty thousand, and they would buy a little estate. They would
be satisfied and happy.

The bishop had finished his harangue. A priest, clad in a golden stole,
ascended the steps of the altar, and the organ began anew to celebrate
the glory of the newly-wedded couple. Now it gave forth long, loud
notes, swelling like waves, so sonorous and powerful that it seemed as
though they must lift