Should we have a wedding party? That was a question which I asked myself, and which I was tempted more than once to put to Eugénie. But a little reflection convinced me that I should be wrong not to celebrate my marriage. To please me, Eugénie would pretend that she did not care about a ball; but at twenty years of age, possessed of innumerable charms, endowed with all the graces which attract and subjugate, is it not natural for a woman to long to show herself in all the glory of her happiness? Is that not a marked day in her life when she is called madame for the first time, although she has not absolutely ceased to be a maiden; when she has not as yet the assurance of the former, but on the contrary has all the shrinking modesty of the other in an intensified form? Yes, at the age of love and enjoyment, it is essential to have a wedding party; doubly so, when one marries the object of one’s passion; for happiness is always an embellishment. My Eugénie needed no embellishment; but why should I not have a little vanity? Why should I not be proud of my triumph? So it was decided that we should have a wedding party: that is to say, a grand breakfast after the ceremony, and in the evening a supper and ball at Lointier’s. I determined to look to it that my Eugénie should have magnificent dresses for that great day; not that she could possibly be more beautiful in my eyes, but I wished that she should enjoy all those triumphs which mark an epoch in a woman’s life. I gave her leave to be a coquette on that day. The moment of my happiness drew near. We turned our attention to the list of guests. For the breakfast there would be very few, enough however to make sure that they would not be bored, and that it should not have the aspect of a family party. For the evening, many people were invited; the salons were large, and it was necessary to fill them. We simply tried to make sure that in the throng none of those fine gentlemen should worm themselves in, who are known neither to the groom nor to the bride, nor to their relations, but who boldly present themselves at a large party, where, under cover of their decent exterior, they consume ices and often cheat at écarté. We had already written a multitude of names; I had not forgotten Bélan, and as the ladies were slightly acquainted with Madame de Beausire and her daughter, we sent them an invitation too; I knew that that would rejoice poor Ferdinand. Suddenly I stopped, and looking at Eugénie and her mother with a smile, I said to them: “Shall we put down their names too?” “I am sure that I know whom you mean!” cried Eugénie. “Henri is thinking of the Giraud family.” “Exactly.” “Why invite them?” asked Madame Dumeillan; “they are terrible bores, and their inquisitiveness actually amounts to spying.”