partments were open to the
public, and at the hour of High Mass the crowd flowed back towards the
vestibule of the chapel to witness what was called the procession of
the Cordons Bleus. The "Blue Ribbons" were the knights of the Order Du
Saint-Esprit in their robes of ceremony, who came to range themselves
in the choir according to the date of their creation. The press was so
great that the parents were separated from the young people. Claude,
however, at the side of Phlipote, realized the ideal of a faithful and
jealous guardian. The hallebardes of the Suisses rang on the marble
pavement of the gallery. Royalty, now unconsciously presenting its
ceremonies for the last time, advanced through a cloud of splendour;
but before the Queen appeared it was necessary that all the knights of
the order down to the youngest should pass by, slow, solemn, majestic.

[147] They wore, besides their ribbons of blue moire, the silver dove
on the shoulder, and the long mantle of sombre blue velvet lined with
yellow satin. Phlipote watched mechanically the double file of haughty
figures passing before them: then, on a sudden, with a feeble cry,
falls fainting into the arms of Claude.

Recovered after a while, under shelter of the great staircase, she wept
as those weep whose heart is broken by a great blow. Claude, without a
word, sustained, soothed her. A sentiment of gratitude mingled itself
with her distress. "How good he is!" she thought.

"It was a pity," says her mother a little later "a pity you did not see
the Cordons Bleus. Fancy! You will laugh at me! But in one of the
handsomest of the Chevaliers I felt sure I recognized the stranger who
helped us at the Sainte Chapelle, and was so gallant with you."

Phlipote did not laugh. "You are deceived, mother!" she said in a
faint voice. "Pardi!" cries the father. "'Tis what I always say. Your
stranger was some young fellow from a shop."

Two months later the young people receive [148] the nuptial
benediction, and continue the musical business when the elders retire
to the country. At first a passionate lover, Claude was afterwards a
good and devoted husband. Phlipote never again opened her lips
regarding the vague love which for a moment had flowered in her heart:
only sometimes, a cloud of reverie veiled her eyes, which seemed to
seek sadly, beyond the circle of her slow, calm life, a brilliant but
chimeric image visible for her alone.

And once again she saw hi