The bride was apparently about twenty years of age; she was short and plump, with light hair, a white skin, and a rosy complexion; she was not a beauty, but her face was piquant and attractive, with a pleasant smile of the sort that almost always denotes a quick wit; but smiles do not invariably fulfil their promises.
The stout papa, who had come forward too late to assist the bride to alight from her carriage, was also too late for another lady who followed her; and he missed a third likewise, because he was very busily occupied in wiping the perspiration from his brow.
The gentleman with the check trousers, having turned his eyes upon the stout man, rushed toward the carriage, exclaiming:
"Pardieu! I am not mistaken, it's my good Blanquette! Dear Monsieur Blanquette! Holà, there! I say, Père Blanquette! Holà! is it possible that you don't know your friends? Just turn your eyes this way!"
The stout papa, being thus noisily addressed, ceased to wipe his brow, and, looking in the direction of the crowd, speedily distinguished the person who had hailed him. Thereupon his face assumed an expression which denoted annoyance rather than pleasure, and he answered his interlocutor's greetings with cold and constrained courtesy.
"Oh! good-day, Monsieur Cherami—glad to see you."
"So you're of the wedding party, Papa Blanquette?—All in full dress, eh? You were in the same carriage with the bride."
"Well, it would be a strange thing if I wasn't of the party, when it's my nephew who's being married!"
"Your nephew? Oho! then I understand; I have my cue. What! that dear little Adolphe—who never wanted to do anything—who didn't take to anything, as I remember."
"But he has taken to marriage very readily.—Besides, Adolphe is a big fellow now."