St. Cloud is a famous place for wedding parties of the petit bourgeois, and Judy felt herself to be very fortunate to witness this first one of the spring. The bride's dress looked rather chilly for February although it was such a warm, sunny day; but through the coarse lace yoke it was easy to see that the prudent young woman had on a sensible red flannel undershirt, and as she turned around and around in the mazes of the dance, with the ecstatic groom, an equally sensible gray woolen petticoat was in plain view. A hurdy-gurdy furnished the music and the greensward was their ballroom floor. Everyone danced, old and young, fat and lean.
Judy sat entranced and beat time with her eager feet. It was such a good-natured crowd. The groom's mother danced with the bride's father, and the bride's mother danced with the groom's father. Everyone had a partner and everyone seemed to feel it to be his or her duty as well as pleasure to dance as long as the hurdy-gurdy man could grind out a tune. The fat mother of the bride (at least Judy thought she must be her mother from a similarity of gray woolen petticoats) sank on the bench almost into the wet sketch with the Corot effect, and made speechless signals that she could proceed no farther. Her disconsolate partner was not nearly through with his breath or enthusiasm. He was as lean as his partner was fat and had not so much to carry as the poor mother of the bride. He took two or three steps alone, kicking out his long legs like a jumping-jack, and then he made a sudden resolve. Coming over to Judy, he took off his hat, pressed it to his starched shirt bosom, made a low bow and asked her to take pity on a poor old man who would have to dance alone, as dance he must, unless she would be his partner.
Impulsive Julia Kean found herself on a terrace at St. Cloud, spinning around like a dancing dervish. She, with her partner, danced down the whole wedding party; even the untiring street piano gave up, and their last spin was taken without music. The good-natured revelers applauded loudly; and some of them congratulated her on her powers of endurance; and the flattered bon père declared that in his youth he had been able to dance down three charming partners but he had never had the pleasure of dancing with a young lady with the endurance of the English miss. With that, he heard a scornful "Bah" from his good wife, who berated him for his stupidity in not knowing l'Americaine from l'Anglaise.
"An English lady would be scornful of our kind, but an American would not be so particular, blockhead?" And the large grenadier of a woman, looking like one of the commune, gave his ear a playful tweak.
"My wife is jealous, mademoiselle. She was ever thus," said the lean dancer; and all the company roared with delight at his wit. Then the hurdy-gurdy started up a brisk polka. Judy was claimed by the grinning groom, and once more her endurance was put to the test. For the honor of her country, she was glad of her athletic training and record at Wellington. The bride was dancing with her new father-in-law, Judy's former partner, and it was recognized at the beginning that this was to be fight to the finish between the two couples.
"Breathe through your nose and save your wind," she whispered to her partner, who was puffing like a porpoise and showed signs of giving in. The others had one by one succumbed to fatigue and were now sitting in a more or less exhausted state on the various benches, noisily applauding the endurance of the spinning couples and betting on their favorites.
The groom was not the man his father was, but he had youth in his favor; and Judy had the advantage of the bride in lightness and training. The old father was beginning to look grim and haggard, and the bride very hot, with her red flannel shirt showing in splotches through her moist wedding finery. Judy's soul was filled with compassion. This was the bride's day and no honor should be wrested from her. If the husband scored one on her to-day she might never catch even, and he might hold the whip hand over her for the rest of their married life. As for the old man, it was hard enough to be old and have young ones usurp your place.
Judy made a sudden resolve to let her opponents win. She was the stronger member of their team and knew if it had not been for her endurance, the young man would have given in long ago; so assuming a shortness of breath that she did not really feel, she slid from her partner's flabby embrace and sank on a bench by the side of the bride's mother, just a second before the old man and his daughter-in-law flopped in an ignominious heap on the grass.
Being tired and victorious is a very different thing from being tired and beaten, so the fallen pair were soon restored. The groom picked up his lady-love and bestowed a burning kiss on her panting mouth, (just to let her know there was no hard feeling,) and Judy, remembering she had in her shirtwaist in lieu of a missing button, a tiny enamelled American flag, went forward and pinned it on the lapel of the old man's coat, and making a low curtsey, said:
"A tribute from America to France!"