"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 curé's hand. He pressed it, shook it, bruised it, while he stammered:
"True—true—true, Monsieur le Curé, 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. Césaire, 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.
For the last eight days, it had been snowing, and the brown earth, the earth already fertilized by the autumn savings had become livid, sleeping under a great sheet of ice.
It was cold in the thatched houses adorned with white caps; and the round apples in the trees of the enclosures seemed to be flowering, powdered as they had been in the pleasant month of their blossoming.