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Parisian wedding, did I not? But in point of fact this wedding is a

symbol. It's the apotheosis of the _bourgeoisie_, my dear fellow--the old

nobility sacrificing one of its sons on the altar of the golden calf in

order that the Divinity and the gendarmes, being the masters of France

once more, may rid us of those scoundrelly Socialists!"

Then, again correcting himself, he added: "But I was forgetting. There

are no more Socialists. Their head was cut off the other morning."

Duthil found this very funny. Then in a confidential way he remarked:

"You know that the marriage wasn't settled without a good deal of

difficulty.... Have you read Sagnier's ignoble article this morning?"

"Yes, yes; but I knew it all before, everybody knew it."

Then in an undertone, understanding one another's slightest allusion,

they went on chatting. It was only amidst a flood of tears and after a

despairing struggle that Baroness Duvillard had consented to let her

lover marry her daughter. And in doing so she had yielded to the sole

desire of seeing Gerard rich and happy. She still regarded Camille with

all the hatred of a defeated rival. Then, an equally painful contest had

taken place at Madame de Quinsac's. The Countess had only overcome her

revolt and consented to the marriage in order to save her son from the

dangers which had threatened him since childhood; and the Marquis de

Morigny had been so affected by her maternal abnegation, that in spite of

all his anger he had resignedly agreed to be a witness, thus making a

supreme sacrifice, that of his conscience, to the woman whom he had ever

loved. And it was this frightful story that Sagnier--using transparent

nicknames--had related in the "Voix du Peuple" that morning. He had even

contrived to make it more horrid than it really was; for, as usual, he

was badly informed, and he was naturally inclined to falsehood and

invention, as by sending an ever thicker and more poisonous torrent from

his sewer, he might, day by day, increase his paper's sales. Since

Monferrand's victory had compelled him to leave the African Railways

scandal on one side, he had fallen back on scandals in private life,

stripping whole families bare and pelting them with mud.

All at once Duthil and Massot were approached by Chaigneux, who, with his

shabby frock coat badly buttoned, wore both a melancholy and busy air.

"Well, Monsieur Massot," said he, "what about your article on Silviane?

Is it settled? Will it go in?"

As Chaigneux was always for sale, always ready to serve as a valet, it

had occurred to Duvillard to make use of him to ensure Silviane's success

at the Comedie. He had handed this sorry deputy over to the young woman,

who entrusted him with all manner of dirty work, and sent him scouring

Paris in search of applauders and advertisements. His eldest daughter was

not yet married, and never had his four women folk weighed more heavily

on his hands. His life had become a perfect hell; they had ended by

beating him, if he did not bring a thousand-franc note home on the first

day of every month.

"My article!" Massot replied; "no, it surely won't go in, my dear deputy.

Fonsegue says that it's written in too laudatory a style for the 'Globe.'

He asked me if I were having a joke with the paper."

Chaigneux became livid. The article in question was one written in

advance, from the society point of view, on the success which Silviane

would achieve in "Polyeucte," that evening, at the Comedie. The

journalist, in the hope of pleasing her, had even shown her his "copy";

and she, quite delighted, now relied upon finding the article in print in

the most sober and solemn organ of the Parisian press.

"Good heavens! what will become of us?" murmured the wretched Chaigneux.

"It's absolutely necessary that the article should go in."

"Well, I'm quite agreeable. But speak to the governor yourself. He's

standing yonder between Vignon and Dauvergne, the Minister of Public

Instruction."

"Yes, I certainly will speak to him--but not here. By-and-by in the

sacristy, during the procession. And I must also try to speak to

Dauvergne, for our Silviane particularly wants him to be in the

ministerial box this evening. Monferrand will be there; he promised

Duvillard so."

Massot began to laugh, repeating the expression which had circulated

through Paris directly after the actress's engagement: "The Silviane

ministry.... Well, Dauvergne certainly owes that much to his

godmother!" said he.

Just then the little Princess de Harn, coming up like a gust of wind,

broke in upon the three men. "I've no seat, you know!" she cried.

Duthil fancied that it was a question of finding her a well-placed chair

in the church. "You mustn't count on me," he answered. "I've just had no

end of trouble in stowing the Duchess de Boisemont away with her two

daughters."

"Oh, but I'm talking of this evening's performance. Come, my dear Duthil,

you really must find me a little corner in somebody's box. I shall die, I

know I shall, if I can't applaud our delicious, our incomparable friend!"

Ever since setting Silviane down at her door on the previous day,

Rosemonde had been overflowing with admiration for her.

"Oh! you won't find a single remaining seat, madame," declared Chaigneux,

putting on an air of importance. "We have distributed everything. I have

just been offered three hundred francs for a stall."

"That's true, there has been a fight even for the bracket seats, however

badly they might be placed," Duthil resumed. "I am very sorry, but you

must not count on me.... Duvillard is the only person who might take

you in his box. He told me that he would reserve me a seat there. And so

far, I think, there are only three of us, including his son.... Ask

Hyacinthe by-and-by to procure you an invitation."

Rosemonde, whom Hyacinthe had so greatly bored that she had given him his

dismissal, felt the irony of Duthil's suggestion. Nevertheless, she

exclaimed with an air of delight: "Ah, yes! Hyacinthe can't refuse me

that. Thanks for your information, my dear Duthil. You are very nice, you

are; for you settle things gaily even when they are rather sad.... And

don't forget, mind, that you have promised to teach me politics. Ah!

politics, my dear fellow, I feel that nothing will ever impassion me as

politics do!"

Then she left them, hustled several people, and in spite of the crush

ended by installing herself in the front row.

"Ah! what a crank she is!" muttered Massot with an air of amusement.

Then, as Chaigneux darted towards magistrate Amadieu to ask him in the

most obsequious way if he had received his ticket, the journalist said to

Duthil in a whisper: "By the way, my dear friend, is it true that

Duvillard is going to launch his famous scheme for a Trans-Saharan

railway? It would be a gigantic enterprise, a question of hundreds and

hundreds of millions this time.... At the 'Globe' office yesterday

evening, Fonsegue shrugged his shoulders and said it was madness, and

would never come off!"

Duthil winked, and in a jesting way replied: "It's as good as done, my

dear boy. Fonsegue will be kissing the governor's feet before another

forty-eight hours are over."

Then he gaily gave the other to understand that golden manna would

presently be raining down on the press and all faithful friends and

willing helpers. Birds shake their feathers when the storm is over, and

he, Duthil, was as spruce and lively, as joyous at the prospect of the

presents he now expected, as if there had never been any African Railways

scandal to upset him and make him turn pale with fright.

"The deuce!" muttered Massot, who had become serious. "So this affair

here is more than a triumph: it's the promise of yet another harvest.

Well, I'm no longer surprised at the crush of people."

At this moment the organs suddenly burst into a glorious hymn of

greeting. The marriage procession was entering the church. A loud clamour

had gone up from the crowd, which spread over the roadway of the Rue

Royale and impeded the traffic there, while the _cortege_ pompously

ascended the steps in the bright sunshine. And it was now entering the

edifice and advancing beneath the lofty, re-echoing vaults towards the

high altar which flared with candles, whilst on either hand crowded the

congregation, the men on the right and the women on the left. They had

all risen and stood there smiling, with necks outstretched and eyes

glowing with curiosity.

First, in the rear of the magnificent beadle, came Camille, leaning on

the arm of her father, Baron Duvillard, who wore a proud expression

befitting a day of victory. Veiled with superb _point d'Alencon_ falling

from her diadem of orange blossom, gowned in pleated silk muslin over an

underskirt of white satin, the bride looked so extremely happy, so

radiant at having conquered, that she seemed almost pretty. Moreover, she

held herself so upright that one could scarcely detect that her left

shoulder was higher than her right.

Next came Gerard, giving his arm to his mother, the Countess de

Quinsac,--he looking very handsome and courtly, as was proper, and she

displaying impassive dignity in her gown of peacock-blue silk embroidered

with gold and steel beads. But it was particularly Eve whom people wished

to see, and every neck was craned forward when she appeared on the arm of

General Bozonnet, the bridegroom's first witness and nearest male

relative. She was gowned in "old rose" taffetas trimmed with Valenciennes

of priceless value, and never had she looked younger, more deliciously

fair. Yet her eyes betrayed her emotion, though she strove to smile; and

her languid grace bespoke her widowhood, her compassionate surrender of

the man she loved. Monferrand, the Marquis de Morigny, and banker

Louvard, the three other witnesses, followed the Baroness and General

Bozonnet, each giving his arm to some lady of the family. A considerable

sensation was caused by the appearance of Monferrand, who seemed on

first-rate terms with himself, and jested familiarly with the lady he

accompanied, a little brunette with a giddy air. Another who was noticed

in the solemn, interminable procession was the bride's eccentric brother

Hyacinthe, whose dress coat was of a cut never previously seen, with its

tails broadly and symmetrically pleated.

When the affianced pair had taken their places before the prayer-stools

awaiting them, and the members of both families and the witnesses had

installed themselves in the rear in large armchairs, all gilding and red

velvet, the ceremony was performed with extraordinary pomp. The cure of

the Madeleine officiated in person; and vocalists from the Grand Opera

reinforced the choir, which chanted the high mass to the accompaniment of

the organs, whence came a continuous hymn of glory. All possible luxury

and magnificence were displayed, as if to turn this wedding into some

public festivity, a great victory, an event marking the apogee of a

class. Even the impudent bravado attaching to the loathsome private drama

which lay behind it all, and which was known to everybody, added a touch

of abominable grandeur to the ceremony. But the truculent spirit of

superiority and domination which characterised the proceedings became

most manifest when Monseigneur Martha appeared in surplice and stole to

pronounce the blessing. Tall of stature, fresh of face, and faintly

smiling, he had his wonted air of amiable sovereignty, and it was with

august unction that he pronounced the sacramental words, like some

pontiff well pleased at reconciling the two great empires whose heirs he

united. His address to the newly married couple was awaited with

curiosity. It proved really marvellous, he himself triumphed in it. Was

it not in that same church that he had baptised the bride's mother, that

blond Eve, who was still so beautiful, that Jewess whom he himself had

converted to the Catholic faith amidst the tears of emotion shed by all

Paris society? Was it not there also that he had delivered his three

famous addresses on the New Spirit, whence dated, to his thinking, the

rout of science, the awakening of Christian spirituality, and that policy

of rallying to the Republic which was to lead to its conquest?

So it was assuredly allowable for him to indulge in some delicate

allusions, by way of congratulating himself on his work, now that he was

marrying a poor scion of the old aristocracy to the five millions of that

_bourgeoise_ heiress, in whose person triumphed the class which had won

the victory in 1789, and was now master of the land. The fourth estate,

the duped, robbed people, alone had no place in those festivities. But by

uniting the affianced pair before him in the bonds of wedlock,

Monseigneur Martha sealed the new alliance, gave effect to the Pope's own

policy, that stealthy effort of Jesuitical Opportunism which would take

democracy, power and wealth to wife, in order to subdue and control them.

When the prelate reached his peroration he turned towards Monferrand, who

sat there smiling; and it was he, the Minister, whom he seemed to be

addressing while he expressed the hope that the newly married pair would

ever lead a truly Christian life of humility and obedience in all fear of

God, of whose iron hand he spoke as if it were that of some gendarme

charged with maintaining the peace of the world. Everybody was aware that

there was some diplomatic understanding between the Bishop and the

Minister, some secret pact or other whereby both satisfied their passion

for authority, their craving to insinuate themselves into everything and

reign supreme; and thus when the spectators saw Monferrand smiling in his

somewhat sly, jovial way, they also exchanged smiles.