“How delicious and savory it smells,” said Mademoiselle Faillot, who had declined the invitation. “Dear! dear! if I had only known such a princely feast was to be prepared, I certainly should have accepted. But perhaps it is not yet too late. I will try.”
As the wedding party approached, she planted herself in the road. She was an ugly-looking, avaricious, cunning woman; but she knew well how to dissemble, and as the bride advanced, her face was wreathed in patronizing smiles.
“My dear Suzanne,” said she, “how beautiful you are. I knew you would make a pretty bride, but you are simply lovely—a hundred times beyond my expectations.”
“You are very kind, Mademoiselle Léocadia,” returned Suzanne, blushing with pleasure.
“Yes, indeed. You far surpass our last bride, Jeanne, in loveliness. And yet you know how everybody raved about her.”
“How is it that you are not one of the merrymakers?” asked Madame Percier, the groom’s mother.
“Well, I was afraid I should be obliged to go to Château Chinon to-day; but my cousin did my errand for me. If I had only known——”
“You would have accepted,” anticipated Suzanne.
“Yes, but you see I refused the dragée——”
“Oh, never mind that,” said the bride graciously. “Pray come to the banquet.”