good old Marie ate with them, having no place left them but the
kitchen. Madame C. was much hurt that she had not been asked to the
wedding. It seemed the least Madame F. could do after taking possession
of the house, and turning its rightful owner out of every room but the
attic. Madame C. was a gentlewoman; and though a meek old soul, this
rudeness hurt her very much. She said nothing; but Marie fumed and
scolded fiercely, and proposed that the neglected ones should all go
away on the wedding-day, and make a _fete_ for themselves somewhere. So
they decided to drive to Dinare, enjoy the fine views of the sea and St.
Malo, dine, and return at dusk, leaving the house free for the wedding
festivities.

The day was fine, and the ladies were graciously invited to behold the
bride before she left for church. She looked as much like a
fashion-plate as it was possible for a living girl to look; and they
dutifully kissed her on both cheeks, paid their compliments and retired,
thanking their stars that they were not in her place.

Mamma was gorgeous to behold, in royal purple and black lace. Gaston was
so glossy and beruffled and begemmed, that they gazed with awe upon the
French Adonis. But the bridegroom was a sight for gods and men. In full
regimentals with a big sword, so many orders that there was hardly room
for them on his little breast, and a cocked hat, with a forest of
feathers, in which he extinguished himself at intervals. How his tiny
boots shone, his tawny moustache bristled with importance, and his
golden epaulets glittered as he shrugged and pranced! His honoured papa
and mamma were both tall, portly people, beside whom the manikin looked
like a child. Livy quite longed to see Madame Clomadoc take little Jules
on her knee, and amuse him with _bonbons_ when he got impatient at the
delay of the carriage.

The Three peeped out of windows, and over the banisters, and got fine
glimpses of the splendours below. Flocks of elegant ladies went sailing
up the narrow stairs. Gentlemen with orders, dandies wonderful to
behold, and a few children (to play with the bridegroom, as Livy
wickedly said), adorned the hall and _salon_. Every one talked at the
top of his or her voice. Shrieks of rapture, groans of despair, greeted
a fine toilette or a torn glove. Peals of laughter from the gentlemen,
and shrill cries from the infants, echoed through the once peaceful
halls. As Francoise said 'It was truly divine.'

At eleven, eve