It was high noon now--the warm spring sun in both their faces--Mignon on Gaston's arm. And a fine and wholesome pair they made--good to look upon, and all as it should and would oftener be if meddlesome cooks could keep their fingers out of the social broth: she in her pretty white muslin frock and veil, her head up, her eyes shining clear--she didn't care now who saw; Gaston in his country-cut clothes (his muscles would stretch them into lines of beauty before the week was out), his new straw hat with its gay ribbon half shading his fine, strong young face; his eyes drinking in everything about him--too supremely happy to do more than walk and breathe and look. Everything was ready for them at the Marmouset. Lemois had not been a willing ally, but having once sworn allegiance he had gone over heart and soul. The young people and their friends--as well as his own--including the exalted lady and her band of conspirators, should want for nothing at his hands. Louis and Leà, as well as madame la marquise, were already inside the Marmouset when the bride and groom arrived. More apple-blossoms here--banks and festoons of them; the deep, winter-smoked fireplace stuffed full; loops, bunches, and spirals hanging from the rafters, the table a mass of ivory and pink, the white cloth with its dishes and viands shining through. Mignon's lip quivered as she passed the threshold, and all her old-time shyness returned. This was not her place! How could she sit down and be waited upon--she who had served all her life? But madame would have none of it. "To-morrow, my child, you can do as you choose; to-day you do as _I_ choose. You are not Mignon--you are the dear sweet bride whom we all want to honor. Besides, love has made you a princess, or Monsieur Herbert would not insist on your sitting in his own chair, which has only held the nobility and persons of high degree, and which he has wreathed in blossoms. And you will sit at the head of the table too, with Gaston right next to you." As grown-ups often devote themselves to amusing children--playing blind-man's-buff, puss-in-the-corner, and Santa Claus--so did Herbert and Louis, Le Blanc, Brierley, The Architect, madame, and the others lay themselves out to entertain these simple people. Leà and Mignon, knowing the ways of gentle-folk, soon forgot their shyness, as did Gaston, and entered into the spirit of the frolic without question--but the stiff old mother, and the lame uncle, and the aunts and cousins were sore distressed, refusing more than a mouthful of food, their furtive glances wandering over the queer figures and quaint objects of the Marmouset--more marvellous than anything their eyes had ever rested on. One by one, with this and that excuse, they stole away and stood outside, their wondering eyes taking in the now quiet and satisfied Coco and the appointments of the court-yard.