I looked up and recognized Madame Girie, who had halted in front of Balloquet and myself and had her eyes fixed upon us, raising her eyebrows, smiling--in a word, indulging in a pantomime which was certainly intended to compel us to speak to her. There was no way of escaping her; for, as soon as I raised my eyes, Madame Girie made a minuet courtesy and stepped forward, saying in a tone in which she clearly intended to announce the mistress of the feast: "Have you had some punch, monsieur, or some _bischoff_? Have you taken anything?" "Yes, madame; I am infinitely obliged to you, I have taken many things." "You see, Monsieur Bocal is so heedless! He talks a great deal and makes a lot of noise, and acts as if he wanted to manage everything; but, as a matter of fact, he don't do anything at all; and if I wasn't here to look after things---- I am the bridegroom's mother, monsieur." "You are quite capable of being, madame," said Balloquet, rising and bowing to Madame Girie; then he walked away and left me to my fate. I would have been glad to follow Balloquet's example; but Madame Girie at once took his seat by my side and seemed disposed to remain there. I felt a cold perspiration break out all over me. The bridegroom's mother turned toward me and continued the conversation: "Yes, monsieur, I am the bridegroom's mother. That magnificent boy is my son; he looks like me, don't he, monsieur?" "Yes, madame; he has your expression." "My expression--that's it exactly; you've struck it! He wanted to marry. I wanted to be everything to him. 'Stay with your mother,' I says; 'you'll be much happier! What more do you need?'" "But, madame, it seems to me that a mother can hardly take the place of a wife; and I imagined that a mother's greatest happiness was to live again in her grandchildren." Madame Girie took from her pocket a handkerchief redolent of snuff, and rejoined: "Oh! certainly, monsieur, a man can marry; but he'd ought to make a good choice, and that's so hard!" "Do you mean that you are not satisfied with the choice your son has made?" "Hum! hum! I don't want to speak unkind of my daughter-in-law, monsieur; I ain't capable of it; but if I was inclined to! In the first place, she's as stupid as a pot, that little Pétronille is. But you've been dancing with her, and you must have found it out." "Why, no, madame; I found her _naïve_ and natural." "Ha! ha! silly [_niaise_] enough, ain't she? You're frank, you are! However, Pamphile was cracked over her, and I don't know why; for she ain't pretty." "She's very fresh."