She lowered her head very slowly, perhaps meaning
it for “yes.” And the priest, who
was still sprinkling the holy water, sprinkled some
on their fingers.
The ceremony was over. The women rose. The
return was unceremonious. The crucifix had lost
its dignity in the hands of the acolyte, who walked
rapidly, the crucifix swaying to right and left, or
bending forward as though it would fall. The
priest, who was not praying now, walked hurriedly
behind them; the cantors and the musician with the
“serpent” had disappeared by a narrow street,
so as to get off their surplices without delay; and
the sailors hurried along in groups. One thought
prompted their haste, and made their mouths water.
A good breakfast was awaiting them at “The Poplars.”
The large table was set in the courtyard, under the
apple trees.
Sixty people sat down to table, sailors and peasants.
The baroness in the middle, with a priest at either
side of her, one from Yport, and the other belonging
to “The Poplars.” The baron seated
opposite her on the other side of the table, the mayor
on one side of him, and his wife, a thin peasant woman,
already aging, who kept smiling and bowing to all
around her, on the other.
Jeanne, seated beside her co-sponsor, was in a sea
of happiness. She saw nothing, knew nothing,
and remained silent, her mind bewildered with joy.
Presently she said:
“What is your Christian name?”
“Julien,” he replied. “Did
you not know?”
But she made no reply, thinking to herself:
“How often I shall repeat that name!”
When the feast was over, the courtyard was given up
to the sailors, and the others went over to the other
side of the chateau. The baroness began to take
her exercise, leaning on the arm of the baron and
accompanied by the two priests. Jeanne and Julien
went toward the wood and walked along one of the mossy
paths. Suddenly seizing her hands, the vicomte
said:
“Tell me, will you be my wife?”
She lowered her head, and as he stammered: “Answer
me, I implore you!” she raised her eyes to his
timidly, and he read his answer there.
* * * *
*
MARRIAGE AND DISILLUSION
The baron, one morning, entered Jeanne’s room
before she was up, and sitting down at the foot of
her bed, said:
“M. le Vicomte de Lamare has asked us for your
hand in marriage.”
She wanted to hide her face under the sheets.
Her father continued:
“We have postponed our answer for the present.”
She gasped, choking with emotion. At the end
of a minute the baron, smiling, added:
“We did not wish to do anything without consulting
you. Your mother and I are not opposed to this
marriage, but we would not seek to influence you.
You are much richer than he is; but, when it is a
question of the happiness of a life, one should not
think too much about money. He has no relations
left. If you marry him, then, it would be as
if a son should come into our family; if it were anyone
else, it would be you, our daughter, who would go among
strangers. The young fellow pleases us.
Would he please you?”
