“Leave all to me, don’t move in the matter. As he chooses, it shall he Monsieur Mouret, well! it shall be Monsieur Mouret. There is no harm in being seen on the steps of a church with Monsieur Mouret, is there? The letter alone is compromising. You will triumph when our young friend shows him a couple of lines of his own handwriting. Above all, say just the same as I say. You understand, I don’t intend to let him spoil such a day as this.”
When she returned into the room with Valérie, who was greatly affected, Théophile, on his side, was saying to his sister in a choking voice:
“I will do so for you, I promise not to disfigure her here, as you assure me it would scarcely be proper, on account of this wedding. But I cannot be answerable for what may take place at church. If the counter-jumper comes and beards me there, in the midst of my own family, I will exterminate them one after the other.”
Auguste, looking very correct in his black dress-coat, his left eye shrunk up, suffering from a headache which he had been dreading for three days past, arrived at this moment, accompanied by his father and his brother-in-law, both looking very solemn, to fetch his bride. There was a little jostling, for they had ended by being late.
At Saint-Roch the big double doors were opened wide. A red carpet covered the steps down to the pavement. It was raining; the May morning was very cold.
“Thirteen steps,” said Madame Juzeur in a low voice to Valérie, when they had passed through the doorway. “It is not a good sign.”
“Are you sure you have the ring?” inquired Madame Josserand of Auguste, who was seating himself with Berthe on the arm-chairs placed before the altar.
He had a fright, fancying he had forgotten it, then felt it in his waistcoat pocket. She had, however, not waited for his answer. Ever since she entered, she had been standing on tip-toe, searching the company with her glance. There were Trublot and Gueulin, both best men; Uncle Bachelard and Campardon, the bride’s witnesses; Duveyrier and Doctor Juillerat, the bridegroom’s witnesses, and all the crowd of acquaintances of whom she was proud. But she had just caught sight of Octave, who was assiduously opening a passage for Madame Hédouin, and she drew him behind a pillar, where she spoke to him in low and rapid tones. The young man, a look of bewilderment on his face, did not appear to understand. However, he bowed with an air of amiable obedience.