“I imagine that she won’t be there on your wedding night.”
“Faith! I wouldn’t swear to it. She does nothing but talk about not being parted from her daughter, and says that she can’t sleep away from her. I believe that she means to sleep in a closet adjoining our bedroom.”
“That will be very amusing for you!”
“It is that sort of thing that keeps going through my head and takes away my natural ardor. But no matter, between now and my wedding I will have everything I eat flavored with vanilla; I will even have some put in my soup. Adieu, my dear Blémont. We rely upon you. Your wedding was very fine, but just wait till you see mine. That’s all I have to say.”
Bélan went away. So we were simply compelled to attend the breakfast; we had promised. However, perhaps it would be more amusing than we thought. Indeed, there are parties which are so tiresome that they are actually comical. The only remedy was to make the best of things; they say that there is a good side to everything.
Eugénie gave her attention to her dresses; for she must have two for that day. I urged her not to lace herself too tightly; you can guess why. A woman should think about being a mother rather than try to make herself slender; but that is what she often forgets.
Bélan’s great day arrived. A carriage came for us, the coachman, and the groom behind, both dressed in apricot livery. I was compelled to admit that that feature already excelled my wedding, and I expected to see some magnificent things. We were to meet at Madame de Beausire’s, where I had never been. It was an old house, on Rue de la Roquette. We passed an old concierge; we ascended an old staircase, upon which rose leaves had been scattered profusely. I was sure that that was an idea of Bélan, and I did not consider it a very happy one, for it nearly caused my wife to fall; but I caught her in time, and she said with a smile:
“We were married without rose leaves, my dear.”
“Yes, my dear love; it was less romantic, but there was no slipping.”
We entered an apartment of extraordinary height, on the first floor. It was so high that I could hardly distinguish the mouldings of the ceiling. We were announced by an old servant, who seemed to have been weeping; perhaps that was a custom of the house. We were ushered into an immense salon, where Bélan, who was doing the honors, produced the impression of a dwarf amid a lot of Patagonians. We discovered a row of old faces, a sort of continuation of the tapestry of which Madame de Beausire had given me a specimen. The men were solemn, sententious and pretentious; the women stiff, affected and painted. There were a few people of our own set, but only a few. I concluded that Bélan had not obtained permission to invite many of his acquaintances. The poor fellow did not seem at his ease amid the Beausire family; he was afraid to be jovial, he dreaded to be dismal; he hovered about his new kindred, who did not talk for fear of compromising their dignity.