But it was plain whose daughter he had fixed his mind upon, and Alexis Barbeau would not make any difficulty about parting with Celeste.  She had lived away from him so much since her childhood that he would scarcely miss her; and it was better to have a daughter well settled in New Orleans than hampered by a poor match in her native village.  And this was what Gabriel Chartrant was told when he made haste to propose for Celeste about the same time.

“I have already accepted for my daughter much more gratifying offers than any you can make.  The banns will be put up next Sunday, and in three weeks she will be Madame Beauvois.”

When Celeste heard this she was beside herself.  She used to tell my mother that Monsieur Beauvois walked as if his natural gait was on all fours, and he still took to it when he was not watched.  His shoulders were bent forward, his hands were in his pockets, and he studied the ground.  She could not endure him.  But the customs were very strict in the matter of marriage.  No French girl in those days could be so bold as to reject the husband her father picked, and own that she preferred some one else.  Celeste was taken home to get ready for her wedding.  She hung on my mother’s neck when choosing her for a bridesmaid, and neither of the girls could comfort the other.  Madame Barbeau was a fat woman who loved ease, and never interfered with Alexis.  She would be disturbed enough by settling her daughter without meddling about bridegrooms.  The grandfather and grandmother were sorry for Gabriel Chartrant, and tearful over Celeste; still, when you are forming an alliance for your child, it is very imprudent to disregard great wealth and by preference give her to poverty.  Their son Alexis convinced them of this; and he had always prospered.

So the banns were put up in church for three weeks, and all Cahokia was invited to the grand wedding.  Alexis Barbeau regretted there was not time to send to New Orleans for much that he wanted to fit his daughter out and provide for his guests.

“If he had sent there a month ago for some certainties about the bridegroom it might be better,” said Paul Le Page.  “I have a cousin in New Orleans who could have told us if he really is the great man he pretends to be.”  But the women said it was plain Paul Le Page was one of those who had wanted Celeste himself.  The suspicious nature is a poison.

Gabriel Chartrant did not say anything for a week, but went along the streets haggard, though with his head up, and worked as if he meant to kill himself.  The second week he spent his nights forming desperate plans.  The young men followed him as they always did, and they held their meeting down the rigole, clustered together on the bank.  They could hear the frogs croak in the marais; it was dry, and the water was getting low.  Gabriel used to say he never heard a frog croak afterwards without a sinking of the heart.  It was the voice of misery.  But Gabriel had strong partisans in this council.  Le Maudit Pensonneau offered with his own hand to kill that interloping stranger whom he called the old devil, and argued the matter vehemently when his offer was declined.  Le Maudit was a wild lad, so nervous that he stopped at nothing in his riding or his frolics; and so got the name of the Bewitched.[4]