Towards me the major acted with the studied courtesy of a high Government official, but towards the lieutenant he acted the part of a senior officer from beginning to end. He ordered him about as if he were sitting on horseback and on the point of setting out for scout duty. And the lieutenant obeyed him like a machine. In fact, the bridegroom quite gave me the impression of a man sitting in his saddle at the head of his squadron. The small arms were beginning to fire, the musket balls were piping about his ears, the hissing grenades strike the ground in front of him, and he cannot so much as move his head aside till the liberating command sounds: "Forward! March! Draw your swords! On 'em! Cut, slash!" Stop! What am I saying? Here was no question of cutting and slashing! No; press her to your breast, rather! Is she not your bride?
Finally, at the word of command, we reached the altar.
It was all over. I had given Bessy away. She was married.
She bore up very gallantly; but then, of course, she had had a deal of practice.
But as for the bridegroom, every one of his movements had to be by order; he was accustomed to have it so. He was so moved indeed that he could scarcely draw off his glove, and would have forced the bride to stand on the right hand, whereas the priest wished her to pass to the left; and when the ceremony was over, he turned towards his own witness with the expression of a delinquent condemned to death who has now no hope left save in the mercy of the Court of Appeal.
"We have been married with our left hands," he stammered.
His best man reassured him: "Have no fear of that, my son. 'Tis the usual thing. The bride always stands on the left, but your right hands were duly placed within each other."
"Impossible!"
Worthy Kvatopil did not seem to know which was his right hand and which was his left.
On the way home the happy bride and bridegroom sat together in a little coach.