They asked to be allowed to bring a friend, Mme. Florence, the cook on
the first floor, and Anna agreed to everything.

The wedding was fixed for the last Tuesday of the month.

II

After the civil formalities and the religious ceremony the wedding party
went to Anna's house. Among those whom the Tailles had brought was a
cousin of a certain age, a M. Sauvetanin, a man given to philosophical
reflections, serious, and always very self-possessed, and Mme.
Lamonoois, an old aunt.

M. Sauvetanin had been told off to give Anna his arm, as they were
looked upon as the two most important persons in the company.

As soon as they had arrived at the door of Anna's house she let go her
companion's arm, and ran on ahead, saying, "I will show you the way,"
and ran upstairs while the invited guests followed more slowly; and,
when they got upstairs, she stood on one side to let them pass, and they
rolled their eyes and turned their heads in all directions to admire
this mysterious and luxurious dwelling.

The table was laid in the drawing-room as the dining-room had been
thought too small. Extra knives, forks, and spoons had been hired from
a neighboring restaurant, and decanters full of wine under the rays of
the sun which shown in through the window.

The ladies went into the bedroom to take off their shawls and bonnets,
and Father Touchard, who was standing at the door, squinted at the low
wide bed, and made funny and suggestive signs to the men, with many a
wink and a nod. Daddy Taille, who thought a great deal of himself,
looked with fatherly pride at his child's well-furnished rooms, and went
from one to the other holding his hat in his hand, making a mental
inventory of everything, and walking like a verger in a church.

Anna went backwards and forwards, ran about giving orders and hurrying
on the wedding feast. Soon she appeared at the door of the dining-room,
and cried: "Come here, all of you, for a moment," and when the twelve
guests did as they were asked they saw twelve glasses of Madeira on a
small table.

Rose and her husband had their arms round each other's waists, and were
kissing each other in every corner. Mons. Sauvetanin never took his eyes
off Anna; he no doubt felt that ardor, that sort of expectation which
all men, even if they are old and ugly, feel for women of a certain
stamp, as if they owed a little of themselves, professionally, to all
males.

They sat down, and the wedding-breakfast began;