Madame Chalumeau, whose eyes were fixed on M. Bouillard as he sat far down one of the tables, dropped her knife to the ground, and disappearing under the table in search of it, gave her head a terrible thump, and emerged scarlet and agonised.
"Someone ought to propose a toast!" suggested Théo, "I suppose M. Thibaut, father?"
Victor nodded absently. "Yes, or M. le curé."
"How do you feel to-day—Master?" asked Brigit, suddenly, forcing him to look at her.
His eyes as her gaze met his were so profoundly tragic that she shuddered, and he did not answer.
"I think I might eat more if I had my teeth," observed the bridegroom, "and I hear there is to be rabbit."
"Hush, father! you know you can't eat with your teeth. You are to have minced rabbit, with plenty of gravy." Madame Chalumeau, whose bright blue dress was very tight and warm, wiped her face on her handkerchief.
Brigit looked round in despair. It was horrible; the heat, the smell of food, the clatter of knives and forks.
For a long time she heard nothing, and then found that M. Thibaut the Mayor was trying to persuade Victor to play. "It would be very pleasant," urged the good man, with evident pride in his own tact, "and the young people might dance."
Joyselle burst out laughing. "Yes, I will play—for the young people to dance. That is what fiddlers are for," he answered.