Cesaire stammered:
“All right, 'tisn't possible.”
“Yes, my lad, but not without trouble. What an old ass your father is!”
The peasant repeated:
“'Tisn't possible!”
“Why, yes. Come and look me up to-morrow at midday in order to settle about the publication of the banns.”
The young man seized the cure's hand. He pressed it, shook it, bruised it as he stammered:
“True-true-true, Monsieur le Cure, on the word of an honest man, you'll see me to-morrow-at your sermon.”
PART II
The wedding took place in the middle of December. It was simple, the bridal pair not being rich. Cesaire, attired in new clothes, was ready since eight o'clock in the morning to go and fetch his betrothed and bring her to the mayor's office, but it was too early. He seated himself before the kitchen table and waited for the members of the family and the friends who were to accompany him.