They all embraced her with an air of ecstasy. The Josserands, at their wits’ end, not knowing where to obtain the two thousand francs which the wedding would cost them, five hundred francs for dress, and fifteen hundred francs for their share of the dinner and ball, had been obliged to send Berthe to Doctor Chassagne’s to see Saturnin, to whom an aunt had just left three thousand francs; and Berthe, having obtained permission to take her brother out for a drive, by way of amusing him, had smothered him with caresses in the cab, and had then gone with him for a minute to the notary, who was unaware of the poor creature’s condition, and who had everything ready for his signature. The silk dress and the abundance of flowers surprised the ladies, who were reckoning up the cost whilst giving vent to their admiration.
Madame Josserand appeared, beaming, in a mauve dress of an unpleasant hue, which made her look taller and rounder than ever, with the majesty of a tower. She fumed about Monsieur Josserand, called to Hortense to find her shawl, and vehemently forbade Berthe to sit down.
“Take care, you will crush your flowers!”
“Do not worry yourself,” said Clothilde, in her calm voice. “We have plenty of time. Auguste is coming for us.”
They were all waiting in the drawing-room, when Théophile abruptly burst in, his dress-coat askew, his white cravat tied like a piece of cord, and without his hat. His face, with its few hairs and bad teeth, was livid; his limbs, like an ailing child’s, were trembling with fury.
“What is the matter with you?” asked his sister, in amazement.
But a fit of coughing interrupted him, and he stood there for a minute, choking, spitting in his handkerchief, and enraged at being unable to give vent to his anger. Valérie looked at him, confused, and warned by a sort of instinct. At length, he shook his fist at her, without even noticing the bride and the other ladies around him.
“Yes, whilst looking everywhere for my necktie, I found a letter in front of the wardrobe.”
He crumpled a piece of paper between his febrile fingers. His wife had turned pale. She realized the situation; and, to avoid the scandal of a public explanation, she passed into the room that Berthe had just left.