The musicians finally came, and after drinking with Andoche, all fell in line for the wedding-march to the Mayor’s office. It was a pretty sight. Two hundred guests, walking two by two, followed the bride. The head of the little procession passed the house of Monsieur Eugène before the last pair started. A wedding in the provinces is considered a great affair. The day is given over to enjoyment. Business is suspended and the whole countryside joins in the festivities. In this particular wedding every one was interested, for the bride and groom were both popular favorites. To be sure, many a girl thought Jacques a simpleton to choose Suzanne, and many a lad declared Suzanne was throwing herself away; but still the occasion was a serene and happy one. The church service, as well as the ceremony at the Mayor’s, was successfully performed. During the former, Savin quietly stood watching his wife, whose face was cold and joyless. As they left the church a young fellow who had been serving as kitchen-boy in Paris set off some fire-crackers and hurled them down before the bridal party. The village maidens were frightened at the noise and feared their dresses would catch fire. But many laughed as, accompanied by fireworks and listening to impromptu jests, the procession returned to the cottage. Near by, in the granary, a feast had been prepared. Twenty good servants had been engaged to wait upon the guests. Suzanne’s grandmother, a little woman with bright, sharp eyes, superintended the banquet, and a better table was never spread in the Morvan. The old lady ordered the waiters about with a martial air. As the party approached, she despatched one of her aids to the kitchen. “Ursule,” said she, “run to the kitchen and see if all is ready.” The lusty, buxom girl addressed disappeared into the adjoining apartment. And the kitchen! What a poem! Half hidden by blue smoke and savory steam, a dozen cooks were preparing the most tempting viands. An ox was roasting. All kinds of game, meats, vegetables, preserves, fruits, sweetmeats, _hors d’œuvres_ and spices were abundantly provided. Seven days of culinary labor had been consumed in the preparation for the banquet, and nothing had been left undone to make it a success. An appetizing odor filled the air, and every guest longed to begin the feast. Those in the village who, in a spirit of economy, had declined the invitation--not feeling inclined to contribute a present--now regretted their action. “How delicious and savory it smells,” said Mademoiselle Faillot, who had declined the invitation. “Dear! dear! if I had only known such a princely feast was to be prepared, I certainly should have accepted. But perhaps it is not yet too late. I will try.” As the wedding party approached, she planted herself in the road. She was an ugly-looking, avaricious, cunning woman; but she knew well how to dissemble, and as the bride advanced, her face was wreathed in patronizing smiles.