I asked mamma why they said that. She drew me brusquely towards her and did not answer.
We reached the church. I heard the music of the organ and was going to enter, when my mother, after having spoken in a low voice to an old lady with a cap and dressed in black, who was not of the wedding party, said to her:
“Two ceremonies will tire her too much, please keep her for me and amuse her in the curé’s garden. Give her some flowers, don’t let her soil her frock, and I will come for her myself.”
I protested, I struggled, I wanted to be all the time at the wedding, but the old lady took me in her arms, passed through the crowd, opened a door, shut it, and put me down, laughing.
“You will amuse yourself a great deal more here than at the church, my darling,” she said to me; “see the lovely garden and the beautiful flowers, they are all for you.”
She put a cushion on the doorstep, and gave me some nasturtium flowers to suck. There was near the stalk a little bud that I found of a sweet taste. I see myself still on the doorstep of Monsieur the Curé’s garden, pointing out to his servant the flowers I wanted, which she went and pulled for me.
I think I forgot the wedding a little describing to her my large garden at my grandmother’s, speaking of my plums and apricot tree, of my strawberries and raspberries, when suddenly my mother appeared, very pale and excited.
“Quick, quick, come!” she said to me.
“To the wedding, mamma?”
“Yes, to the wedding.”