They heard also a rumbling monotone preceding each of these vehement interruptions. The Abbe Bardin was pointing out to her that, unmarried, her son would return to Tonquin, that Lizerolles would be left deserted, her house would be desolate without daughter-in-law or grandchildren; and, as he drew these pictures, he came back, again and again, to his main argument:
“I will answer for their happiness: I will answer for the future.”
His authority as a priest gave weight to this assurance, at least Madame d’Argy felt it so. She went on saying never, but less and less emphatically, and apparently she ceased to say it at last, for three months later the d’Etaples, the Rays, the d’Avrignys and the rest, received two wedding announcements in these words:
“Madame d’Argy has the honor to inform you of the marriage of her son, M. Frederic d’Argy, Chevalier of the Legion of Honor, to Mademoiselle de Nailles.”
The accompanying card ran thus:
“The Baroness
de Nailles has the honor to inform you of the
marriage of Mademoiselle
Jacqueline de Nailles, her
stepdaughter, to M.
Frederic d’Argy.”
Congratulations showered down on both mother and stepmother. A love-match is nowadays so rare! It turned out that every one had always wished all kinds of good fortune to young Madame d’Argy, and every one seemed to take a sincere part in the joy that was expressed on the occasion, even Dolly, who, it was said, had in secret set her heart on Fred for herself; even Nora Sparks, who, not having carried out her plans, had gone back to New York, whence she sent a superb wedding present. Madame de Nailles apparently experienced at the wedding all the emotions of a real mother.
The roses at Lizerolles bloomed that year with unusual beauty, as if to welcome the young pair. Modeste sang ‘Nunc Dimittis’. The least demonstrative of all those interested in the event was Giselle.
ETEXT editor’s bookmarks:
As we grow older we
lay aside harsh judgments and sharp words
Blow which annihilates
our supreme illusion
Death is not that last
sleep
Fool (there is no cure
for that infirmity)
The worst husband is
always better than none
ETEXT editor’s bookmarks for the entire Jacqueline:
A familiarity which,
had he known it, was not flattering
A mother’s geese
are always swans
As we grow older we
lay aside harsh judgments and sharp words
Bathers, who exhibited
themselves in all degrees of ugliness
Blow which annihilates
our supreme illusion
Death is not that last
sleep
Fool (there is no cure
for that infirmity)
Fred’s verses
were not good, but they were full of dejection
Great interval between
a dream and its execution
Hang out the bush, but