But a contemptuous smile (or is it a commiserating look?) from Savin serves to dispel all thoughts save those of hatred from her breast.
CHAPTER VII.
THE INVITATION.
A merry little troop lined the way leading into the forest. Song and mirth echoed through the trees as the happy band tripped along the road, their object being to invite the Barraus to a wedding. In certain rural parts of France it is the custom for the engaged couple, their relatives and best friends to visit in a body those they desire to invite to the wedding, and the future bridegroom, if it be a woman addressed, or the future bride, if it be a man, offers sugar-plums, which if accepted signifies that the implied invitation to the wedding is likewise accepted. In refusing, one also refuses to be present at the wedding. Moreover, a solemn obligation is involved in the acceptance. Those who partake of the sweet almonds are expected not only to join in the festivities, but to furnish a wedding-gift. Eggs, game, fruit, vegetables, and articles of food are usually the principal presents received by the happy couple.
The marriage of pretty little Suzanne Perrogon with Jacques Percier was about to be celebrated. Suzanne was the niece of Jeannille Marselon, whose strange character was referred to in the preceding chapter. Jacques owned a pretty little house and lot—an inheritance from his mother. In the contract he exacted the promise that his wife should engage herself formally, after the birth of her first child, as a wet-nurse in Paris, which is frequently done by the peasants of Morvan and of other sections. As a matter of fact, hundreds of marriage contracts contain such a provision.
For a period of some sixty years Morvan was one of the poorest and most destitute provinces of France. The soil was unyieldingly sterile and the climate cruel. The people found it extremely difficult to subsist on black bread alone, and the outlook for them seemed gloomy enough, until the idea occurred to one of the female Morvandelles—as they are called—to seek the position of wet-nurse in Paris. After a time wet-nursing became a means of livelihood for many peasant women, an industry, so to speak. These women proved to be the agents of civilization in the Morvan, and by degrees they brought not only money there, but certain ideas of luxury and of social propriety. The more intelligent women, while pursuing their vocation among well-bred and even distinguished families, acquired a certain refinement of manner, and to them the little province owed its increased prosperity and enlightenment. It is true, the hard-earned money too often found its way into the pockets of the wine-seller, who became the richest man in the village in a short time; but times were better than ever before in the Morvan, and the peasants rejoiced in their good fortune.
In small provincial towns to which strangers seldom come the inhabitants are all, or nearly all, related to each other. For instance, Andoche claimed relationship with everybody in the village. He professed to be a grand-nephew of Jeannille Marselon; and as the villagers did not deny it, he established his claims by virtue of the axiom—“silence gives consent.”
He accompanied the procession on the invitation tour. Perhaps his superfluous jollity was due to the fact that he held in his arms a demijohn which Monsieur Eugène had just presented to the betrothed. Having persuaded Jacques Percier that he was fainting with thirst, the future groom reluctantly consented to let Andoche test the wine. Without further ceremony Andoche offered a sip to everybody, extending his politeness so far as to permit nobody to drink alone—which he said meant bad luck.
By the time he reached Barrau’s cottage his spirits were very much elevated and his dangerous tongue wagged incessantly.
“Attention! Halt! Right about face!” he shouted as Savin appeared at the door. The latter was pleased at the spectacle, and his face brightened as he thought what a pleasant diversion it would be for Catherine.