It was a
cloudless day on the marriage morning. The nuptial ceremonies had
proceeded smoothly throughout, and had even satisfied Madame
Danville. She returned with the wedding-party to Trudaine's
house, all smiles and serenity. To the bride she was graciousness
itself. "Good girl," said the old lady, following Rose into a
corner, and patting her approvingly on the cheek with her fan;
"good girl, you have looked well this morning--you have done
credit to my son's taste. Indeed, you have pleased me, child! Now
go upstairs, and get on your traveling-dress, and count on my
maternal affection as long as you make Charles happy."
It had been arranged that the bride and bridegroom should pass
their honeymoon in Brittany, and then return to Danville's estate
near Lyons. The parting was hurried over, as all such partings
should be. The carriage had driven off; Trudaine, after lingering
long to look after it, had returned hastily to the house; the
very dust of the whirling wheels had all dispersed; there was
absolutely nothing to see; and yet there stood Monsieur Lomaque
at the outer gate; idly, as if he was an independent man--calmly,
as if no such responsibilities as the calling of Madame
Danville's coach, and the escorting of Madame Danville back to
Lyons, could possibly rest on his shoulders.
Idly and calmly, slowly rubbing his hands one over the other,
slowly nodding his head in the direction by which the bride and
bridegroom had departed, stood the eccentric land-steward at the
outer gate.
Pages:
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156