“Thirteen steps,” said Madame Juzeur in a low voice to Valérie, when they had passed through the doorway. “It is not a good sign.”
“Are you sure you have the ring?” inquired Madame Josserand of Auguste, who was seating himself with Berthe on the arm-chairs placed before the altar.
He had a fright, fancying he had forgotten it, then felt it in his waistcoat pocket. She had, however, not waited for his answer. Ever since she entered, she had been standing on tip-toe, searching the company with her glance. There were Trublot and Gueulin, both best men; Uncle Bachelard and Campardon, the bride’s witnesses; Duveyrier and Doctor Juillerat, the bridegroom’s witnesses, and all the crowd of acquaintances of whom she was proud. But she had just caught sight of Octave, who was assiduously opening a passage for Madame Hédouin, and she drew him behind a pillar, where she spoke to him in low and rapid tones. The young man, a look of bewilderment on his face, did not appear to understand. However, he bowed with an air of amiable obedience.
“It is settled,” whispered Madame Josserand in Valérie’s ear, returning and seating herself in one of the arm-chairs placed for the members of the family, behind those of Berthe and Auguste. Monsieur Josserand, the Vabres, and the Duveyriers were also there.
The organs were now giving forth scales of clear little notes, broken by big pants. There was quite a crush; the choir was filling up, and men remained standing in the aisles. The Abbé Mauduit had reserved to himself the joy of blessing the union of one of his dear penitents. When he appeared in his surplice, he exchanged a friendly smile with the congregation, every face there being familiar to him. Some voices commenced the Veni Creator, the organs resumed their song of triumph, and it was at this moment that Théophile discovered Octave, to the left of the chancel, standing before the chapel of Saint-Joseph.
His sister Clotilde tried to detain him.
“I cannot,” stammered he; “I will never submit to it.”
And he made Duveyrier follow him, to represent the family. The Veni Creator continued. A few persons looked round.
Théophile, who had talked of blows, was in such a state of agitation, when planting himself before Octave, that he was unable at first to say a word, vexed at being short, and raising himself up on tiptoe.
“Sir,” said he at length, “I saw you yesterday with my wife——”