“A religious marriage,” he muttered, “a marriage in church, I could make my constituents stand that, but my committee would not swallow the matter so easily. . . . Still I’ll explain it to them . . . toleration, social necessities . . . . They all send their daughters to Sunday school . . . . But as for office, my dear I am afraid we are going to drown all hope of that in your holy water.”
At these words she stood up grave, generous, resigned, conquered also in her turn.
“My dear, I insist no longer.”
“Then we won’t have a religious marriage. It will be better, much better not.”
“Very well, but be guided by me. I am going to try and arrange everything both to your satisfaction and mine.”
She sought the Reverend Father Douillard and explained the situation. He showed himself even more accommodating and yielding than she had hoped.
“Your husband is an intelligent man, a man of order and reason; he will come over to us. You will sanctify him. It is not in vain that God has granted him the blessing of a Christian wife. The Church needs no pomp and ceremonial display for her benedictions. Now that she is persecuted, the shadow of the crypts and the recesses of the catacombs are in better accord with her festivals. Mademoiselle, when you have performed the civil formalities come here to my private chapel in costume with M. Cérès. I will marry you, a observe the most absolute discretion. I will obtain the necessary dispensations from the Archbishop as well as all facilities regarding the banns, confession-tickets, etc.”
Hippolyte, although he thought the combination a little dangerous, agreed to it, a good deal flattered, at bottom.
“I will go in a short coat,” he said.
He went in a frock coat with white gloves and varnished shoes, and he genuflected.