That was all.  I was married!

My father and my husband shook hands like men who had not met for twenty years; the eyes of both were moist.  As for myself, it was impossible for me to share their emotion.  I was very hungry, and mamma and I had the carriage pulled up at the pastry-cook’s before going on to the dressmaker’s.

The next morning was the great event, and when I awoke it was hardly daylight.  I opened the door leading into the drawing-room; there my dress was spread out on the sofa, the veil folded beside it, my shoes, my wreath in a large white box, nothing was lacking.  I drank a glass of water.  I was nervous, uneasy, happy, trembling.  It seemed like the morning of a battle when one is sure of winning a medal.  I thought of neither my past nor my future; I was wholly taken up with the idea of the ceremony, of that sacrament, the most solemn of all, of the oath I was about to take before God, and also by the thought of the crowd gathered expressly to see me pass.

We breakfasted early.  My father was in his boots, his trousers, his white tie, and his dressing-gown.  My mother also was half dressed.  It seemed to me that the servants took greater pains in waiting on me and showed me more respect.  I even remember that Marie said, “The hairdresser has come, Madame.”  Madame!  Good girl, I have not forgotten it.

It was impossible for me to eat; my throat was parched and I experienced all over me shudders of impatience, something like the sensation one has when one is very-thirsty and is waiting for the sugar to melt.  The tones of the organ seemed to haunt me, and the wedding of Emma and Louis recurred to my mind.  I dressed; the hairdresser called me “Madame” too, and arranged my hair so nicely that I said, I remember, “Things are beginning well; this coiffure is a good omen.”  I stopped Marie, who wished to lace me tighter than usual.  I know that white makes one look stouter and that Marie was right; but I was afraid lest it should send the blood to my head.  I have always had a horror of brides who looked as if they had just got up from table.  Religious emotions should be too profound to be expressed by anything save pallor.  It is silly to blush under certain circumstances.

When I was dressed I entered the drawing-room to have a little more room and to spread out my trailing skirts.  My father and Georges were already there, talking busily.

“Have the carriages come?—­yes—­and about the ’Salutaris’?—­very good, then, you will see to everything—­and the marriage coin—­certainly, I have the ring—­Mon Dieu! where is my certificate of confession?  Ah! good, I left it in the carriage.”

They were saying all this hurriedly and gesticulating like people having great business on hand.  When Georges caught sight of me he kissed my hand, and while the maids kneeling about me were settling the skirt, and the hairdresser was clipping the tulle of the veil, he said in a husky voice, “You look charming, dear.”