down, by way of making one another laugh. But Vincent went to get the
basin and the sprinkler. Fortune placed the ring in the basin, a thick
ring of solid silver. When the priest had blessed it, sprinkling it
crosswise, he returned it to Fortune, who slipped it upon Rosalie's
finger. Her hand was still discoloured with grass-stains, which soap had
not been able to remove.

'_In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti_,' Abbe Mouret murmured
again, giving them a final benediction.

'_Amen_,' responded Vincent.

It was early morning. The sun was not yet shining through the big
windows of the church. Outside one could hear the noisy twittering of
the sparrows in the branches of the service tree, whose foliage shot
through the broken panes. La Teuse, who had not previously had time to
clean the church, was now dusting the altar, craning up on her sound leg
to wipe the feet of the ochre and lake-bedaubed Christ, and arranging
the chairs as quietly as possible; all the while bowing and crossing
herself, and following the service, but not omitting a single sweep of
her feather broom. Quite alone, at the foot of the pulpit, was mother
Brichet, praying in a very demonstrative fashion. She kept on her knees,
and repeated the prayers in so loud a whisper that it seemed as if a
swarm of bluebottles had taken possession of the nave.

At the other end of the church near the confessional, Catherine held
an infant in swaddling clothes. As it began to cry, she turned her back
upon the altar, and tossed it up, and amused it with the bell-rope,
which dangled just over its nose.

'_Dominus vobiscum_,' said the priest, turning round, and spreading out
his hands.

'_Et cum spiritu tuo_,' responded Vincent.

At that moment three big girls came into the church. They were too shy
to go far up, though they jostled one another to get a better view of
what was going on. They were three friends of Rosalie, who had dropped
in for a minute or two on their way to the fields, curious as they were
to hear what his reverence would say to the bride and bridegroom. They
had big scissors hanging at their waists. At last they hid themselves
behind the font, where they pinched each other and twisted themselves
about, while trying to choke their bursts of laughter with their
clenched fists.

'Well,' whispered La Rousse, a finely built girl, with copper-coloured
skin and hair, 'there won't be any scrimmage to get out of church when
it's all over.'