wever, Benjamin moved away from the door, Ambroise gave his orders,
and Mathieu and Marianne appeared upon the verdant lawn in the sunlight.
An acclamation, merry laughter, affectionate clapping of hands greeted
them. The gay excited throng, the whole swarming family cried aloud:
"Long live the Father! Long live the Mother! Long life, long life to the
Father and the Mother!"

At ninety years of age Mathieu was still very upright and slim, closely
buttoned in a black frock-coat like a young bridegroom. Over his bare
head fell a snowy fleece, for after long wearing his hair cut short he
had now in a final impulse of coquetry allowed it to grow, so that it
seemed liked the _renouveau_ of an old but vigorous tree. Age might have
withered and worn and wrinkled his face, but he still retained the eyes
of his young days, large lustrous eyes, at once smiling and pensive,
which still bespoke a man of thought and action, one who was very
simple, very gay, and very good-hearted. And Marianne at eighty-seven
years of age also held herself very upright in her light bridal gown,
still strong and still showing some of the healthy beauty of other days.
With hair white like Mathieu's, and softened face, illumined as by a
last glow under her silky tresses, she resembled one of those sacred
marbles whose features time has ravined, without, however, being able to
efface from them the tranquil splendor of life. She seemed, indeed, like
some fruitful Cybele, retaining all firmness of contour, and living
anew in the broad daylight with gentle good humor sparkling in her large
black eyes.

Arm-in-arm close to one another, like a worthy couple who had come from
afar, who had walked on side by side without ever parting for seventy
long years, Mathieu and Marianne smiled with tears of joy in their eyes
at the whole swarming family which had sprung from their love, and which
still acclaimed them:

"Long live the Father! Long live the Mother! Long life, long life to the
Father and the Mother!"

Then came the ceremony of reciting a compliment and offering a bouquet.
A fair-haired little girl named Rose, five years of age, had been
intrusted with this duty. She had been chosen because she was the eldest
child of the fourth generation. She was the daughter of Angeline, who
was the daughter of Berthe, who was the daughter of Charlotte, wife of
Blaise. And when the two ancestors saw her approach them with her big
bouquet, their emotion increased, ha