“My dear Suzanne,” said she, “how beautiful you are. I knew you would make a pretty bride, but you are simply lovely--a hundred times beyond my expectations.” “You are very kind, Mademoiselle Léocadia,” returned Suzanne, blushing with pleasure. “Yes, indeed. You far surpass our last bride, Jeanne, in loveliness. And yet you know how everybody raved about her.” “How is it that you are not one of the merrymakers?” asked Madame Percier, the groom’s mother. “Well, I was afraid I should be obliged to go to Château Chinon to-day; but my cousin did my errand for me. If I had only known----” “You would have accepted,” anticipated Suzanne. “Yes, but you see I refused the _dragée_----” “Oh, never mind that,” said the bride graciously. “Pray come to the banquet.” “No, thank you kindly, but I made a stupid mistake, and I must abide by it. I should have dearly loved to see you beside Jacques and to have admired you in the dance, but I must respect the custom in regard to weddings.” “The custom! Pooh! Come, come, Mademoiselle, you must join us,” said Jacques as he gently took her arm. “Here is Mademoiselle Léocadia who is going to dine with us,” cried he to the rest. Mademoiselle Faillot protested in a hypocritical manner, inwardly elated the while at the success of her manœuvre. Reaching the granary the tables were soon filled, and Léocadia found herself occupying a seat of honor near the bride and groom. Her flattery had proven effective, as it usually did, and the day’s enjoyment was secured to her. When, however, Suzanne’s grandmother saw Mademoiselle Faillot so comfortably settled she looked somewhat disappointed. “I feared she would try to get in some way--the viper,” was the old lady’s observation. But there was nothing to be done about it. The feast was a grand success. Everybody ate and drank to his or her heart’s content, and the quantity of wine consumed loosened the tongues of all present to such an extent that for a while the place was a very good imitation of a pandemonium. At length Suzanne rose and addressed the company. “Who wants to dance?” she loudly inquired. Immediately fifty boys and girls, among them Catherine, Sidonie, Félicité, and Jeanne, pressed forward. “My old grandmother danced at my marriage,” said Grandma Marion, “and I will take a turn out of compliment to my little Suzanne.” And the agile, bright little old woman kept her word, amid the applause of all present. Fadard, the worse off for wine, approached Catherine to ask for the first dance. “Madame,” said he, “will you polka with me?” “I cannot say, Monsieur. You must ask my husband.” “Oh, come, come.” “You are surprised, it seems. Isn’t my husband the master?” “Yes, of course. But I supposed it hardly would be necessary to ask permission for----” “You were wrong, then.” “Very well, I will go and ask your husband.” And turning on his heel, Andoche’s friend started in quest of Savin, with a sinister expression on his face. [Illustration]