t more erect than ever,
stretching the silk of the bodice until it almost cracked.

What a contrast to the attitude of Monsieur Chebe, who was seated at a
short distance. In different households, as a general rule, the same
causes produce altogether different results. That little man, with the
high forehead of a visionary, as inflated and hollow as a ball, was as
fierce in appearance as his wife was radiant. That was nothing unusual,
by the way, for Monsieur Chebe was in a frenzy the whole year long. On
this particular evening, however, he did not wear his customary
woe-begone, lack-lustre expression, nor the full-skirted coat, with the
pockets sticking out behind, filled to repletion with samples of oil,
wine, truffles, or vinegar, according as he happened to be dealing in one
or the other of those articles. His black coat, new and magnificent, made
a fitting pendant to the green gown; but unfortunately his thoughts were
of the color of his coat. Why had they not seated him beside the bride,
as was his right? Why had they given his seat to young Fromont? And there
was old Gardinois, the Fromonts' grandfather, what business had he by
Sidonie's side? Ah! that was how it was to be! Everything for the
Fromonts and nothing for the Chebes! And yet people are amazed that there
are such things as revolutions!

Luckily the little man had by his side, to vent his anger upon, his
friend Delobelle, an old, retired actor, who listened to him with his
serene and majestic holiday countenance.

Strangely enough, the bride herself had something of that same
expression. On that pretty and youthful face, which happiness enlivened
without making glad, appeared indications of some secret preoccupation;
and, at times, the corners of her lips quivered with a smile, as if she
were talking to herself.

With that same little smile she replied to the somewhat pronounced
pleasantries of Grandfather Gardinois, who sat by her side.

"This Sidonie, on my word!" said the good man, with a laugh. "When I
think that not two months ago she was talking about going into a convent.
We all know what sort of convents such minxes as she go to! As the saying
is in our province: The Convent of Saint Joseph, four shoes under the
bed!"

And everybody at the table laughed heartily at the rustic jests of the
old Berrichon peasant, whose colossal fortune filled the place of
manliness, of education, of kindness of heart, but not of wit; for he had
plenty of tha