the relations sitting at
one end of the table and the young people at the other. Mme. Touchard,
the mother, presided on the right and the bride on the left. Anna looked
after everybody, saw that the glasses were kept filled and the plates
well supplied. The guests evidently felt a certain respectful
embarrassment at the sight of all the sumptuousness of the rooms and at
the lavish manner in which they were treated. They all ate heartily of
the good things provided, but there were no jokes such as are prevalent
at weddings of that sort; it was all too grand, and it made them feel
uncomfortable. Old Madame Touchard, who was fond of a bit of fun, tried
to enliven matters a little, and at the beginning of the dessert she
exclaimed: "I say, Philip, do sing us something." The neighbors in their
street considered that he had the finest voice in all Havre.

The bridegroom got up, smiled, and turning to his sister-in-law, from
politeness and gallantry, tried to think of something suitable for the
occasion, something serious and correct, to harmonize with the
seriousness of the repast.

Anna had a satisfied look on her face, and leaned back in her chair to
listen, and all assumed looks of attention, though prepared to smile
should smiles be called for.

The singer announced, "The Accursed Bread," and extending his right arm,
which made his coat ruck up into his neck, he began.

It was decidedly long, three verses of eight lines each, with the last
line and the last line but one repeated twice.

All went well for the first two verses; they were the usual commonplaces
about bread gained by honest labor and by dishonesty. The aunt and the
bride wept outright. The cook, who was present, at the end of the first
verse looked at a roll which she held in her hand with running eyes, as
if they applied to her, while all applauded vigorously. At the end of
the second verse the two servants, who were standing with their backs
to the wall, joined loudly in the chorus, and the aunt and the bride
wept outright. Daddy Taille blew his nose with the noise of a trombone,
and old Touchard brandished a whole loaf half over the table, and the
cook shed silent tears on the crust which she was still holding.

Amidst the general emotion M. Sauvetanin said:

"That is the right sort of song; very different to the nasty, risky
things one generally hears at weddings."

Anna, who was visibly affected, kissed her hand to her sister, and
pointed to her