From the sighs heaved by those ladies, one would have thought that they were leading a second Iphigenia to the sacrifice. The relations came forward and delivered congratulations of the same style as their costumes. In the midst of it all, the bridegroom was the person to whom the least attention was paid. When he addressed his wife, she made no answer; when he turned to his mother-in-law, she took out her handkerchief and turned her back on him; and if he accosted any of the relations, they pretended to pay no attention to him. We started for the church, each man escorting a lady; I gave my arm to my wife; for I did not see why I should deprive myself of that pleasure in favor of those creatures. We went downstairs, in the conventional order, Bélan at the head, escorting his mother-in-law. The rose leaves produced a wonderful impression. “This is lovely!” said an old aunt; “it’s like a procession!” “It’s an idea of mine!” cried Bélan; “I thought of it last night, while thinking of my wedding; and I am delighted that----” Bélan had reached this point in his speech, when a tall cousin, who was escorting the bride, slipped down two steps and fell, dragging the fair Armide after him. Shrieks arose on all sides. Thank heaven, Armide had fallen decently, and had made no exposé for the benefit of the company, which would have been most unpleasant for the husband, who hoped to be the first to behold her charms; and which would probably have made the mother-in-law sob anew. The bride was quickly assisted to her feet, and the tall cousin rose unassisted, uttering a most vulgar oath and exclaiming: “The devil take the rose leaves! A man must be an infernal fool to scatter them on a staircase! I have hurt my scrotum.” Bélan was speechless with confusion at the accident due to his idea. “Monsieur de Bélan, you must have all this swept away,” said the mother-in-law; and the bridegroom replied with a low bow: “Yes, Madame de Beausire, I will look after it.” Our betrothed were united in a small church in the Marais. Nothing extraordinary took place during the ceremony, except that the mother-in-law used two handkerchiefs, and that Bélan made horrible faces in his attempts to weep with her, but without success. I had hoped that the breakfast would be at a restaurant; but we were bidden to return to the mother-in-law’s. That certainly required courage. Eugénie and I looked at each other, vowing, albeit a little late, that we would never be caught in such a scrape again. The bridegroom went ahead, doubtless to have his rose leaves swept away. I was sure that he would do the sweeping himself rather than expose himself to his mother-in-law’s wrath.