Then he kissed her throbbing red lips, her fluttering eyelids, just as he had dreamed of doing many a time. And the bliss was sweeter than any dream.
There was not much time to waste. Mère Lunde protested at first at being left alone, but there would be Chloe, and the Marchands to look after her, and neighbors were kindly.
Not much fuss was made in those days over wedding trousseaus. Often one dress went through families, was even borrowed. But Renée had no need of that.
So they went to church on Sunday and heard the banns called, and every one nodded to his next neighbor with the confident air of having known it all along. The next day Gaspard Denys gave his darling away, and the priest joined their hands and blessed them. Madame Chouteau gave them the wedding feast, which was a mid-day dinner in the grand old house, much the finest residence in St. Louis. It had not the boisterousness of most weddings, for only the better part of the community were invited. Madame Chouteau could do that.
They drank the bride’s health and gave her all good wishes. The men considered André very lucky and he thought himself so, but Renée’s fortune scarcely counted, since he would make one for himself. Everything seemed sweet and solemn to Renée, and she was awed in a sacred sort of way as this new life unfolded before her.
They walked in quite a procession afterward. Gaspard Denys had Madame Gardepier. They talked a little about the bridegroom, then she said:
“Monsieur Denys, you have done a faithful duty toward the child. You will miss her much. One can never be quite the same again. Is it true you are going to New Orleans also?”
“Yes, madame. I have not been there for years.”
She had hoped it was not so. If he were lonely, he might turn to others for consolation. And if the child went out of his life——
“But will her husband agree to share her love? Husbands are jealous sometimes,” she commented rather gayly.