“I will drink, then,” I said to myself; “but I must take care; a bridegroom should keep his head clear.”
The dessert came at last; our appetites were a little appeased; the wits of the party began to shine, the jokers to hazard a bonmot or two or a very sly remark; the young men tried to laugh, and the women did their utmost to consider it all very amusing. My sister was in ecstasies; she did her best to encourage this well-intended merriment. As for Déneterre, he was so busily engaged in carving, and in looking after the small table at which his children were sitting with six other children, that he had no time to put in a word.
The dessert and liqueurs increased the general hilarity to the highest point, augmented as it was by divers little pranks on the part of my nephews, who knocked over two piles of plates, broke three glasses, overturned sauce on several ladies’ dresses, while coming to the large table to fetch for themselves things that were promised them but that did not arrive quickly enough to satisfy them. But they knew that on such a great day they had carte blanche, and they made the most of it. Everybody agreed that they were dear little fellows, even the ladies who would have to change their dresses. Their papa and mamma were enraptured, which was quite natural.
The signal was given, and we left the table.
“How is this?” I whispered to my sister; “no song?”
“You know very well that it isn’t good form nowadays, my dear. Is there singing at the great weddings in Paris?”
“No; but there is at those where the guests enjoy themselves.”
“We stick to custom.”
“And the garter?”
“Fie! fie! we have done away with that; it was indecent!”