At last all was over; I was married! We left the church between three rows of sightseers, and went to my sister’s; we spent three-quarters of an hour in going the distance of a gunshot; to be sure, our procession was increased by about half of the town, and we had to return salutes and courtesies at every step.
When we reached the house, it was only half-past one, and we did not dine till three. What were we to do in the interval? That was the most difficult part of the whole day. Some old women proposed a game of boston or whist, but Madame de Pontchartrain thought that it would be a breach of etiquette to play cards on a wedding day morning; it is good form to do nothing; it is amusement enough to talk, sitting very straight for fear of rumpling one’s gown.
Without asking our dear aunt’s opinion, I went down into the garden with my wife. I wanted to entice her into some solitary path; not that I proposed to exert my marital rights already; but I wanted to try to read Pélagie’s heart and find out what her present feelings were.—It was impossible to be alone; all the young women followed us; the inquisitive little hussies would not let us out of their sight. Two young married people afford so much food for thought! they are so pretty to look at—when they are pretty; and you know that we were.
I could do nothing more than take my wife’s hand; I squeezed it tenderly—very tenderly—and she looked at me and smiled.—“The deuce!” thought I; “can it be that she understands that language?”
“You hurt my fingers,” she remarked mildly, withdrawing her hand.
It was enough to drive one to despair! I had no further desire to walk with her alone.
Luckily, the hour for the feast arrived. We betook ourselves, with the utmost formality, as before, to the dining room; we took our seats in the order demanded by convention. I was at one end of the table, my wife at the other; that was the best way to encourage harmony between us; and then, everyone knew that we should come together at last.
The greatest tranquillity reigned during the early courses; we sat very straight, watched one another, passed the dishes, ate, and declared everything divine, exquisite, delicious: that was substantially the whole of the conversation. I had no desire to enliven it; I was sober, yes, pensive. Sometimes I glanced at my wife; her eyes were constantly fixed on her plate. Madame de Pontchartrain’s expressed the satisfaction she felt at the reserved demeanor of the bride and groom; we certainly could not be charged with acting like two madcaps.
Upon examining the guests, I found that I had at my right a pretty, vivacious young blonde, with whom I had several times laughed and joked when we met in society, so far as laughter was permitted in the circles that we frequented. I began to talk with her by way of distraction, but she replied with marked coldness, reserve, and brevity. What did that mean? Mon Dieu! I had forgotten that I was now a married man. I was still inclined to play the gallant with young ladies, but I had lost my title of bachelor, which was worth a hundred times more in their eyes than all the pretty speeches I could make them as a Benedick.
However, I was determined to amuse myself at any price. I tried to eat; but I was not hungry.