Fromont and Risler | Page 8

a
first maternity. As soon as he saw her, Risler walked straight to the
corner where she sat and compelled Sidonie to sit beside her. Needless
to say that it was Madame "Chorche." To whom else would he have
spoken with such affectionate respect? In what other hand than hers
could he have placed his little Sidonie's, saying: "You will love her

dearly, won't you? You are so good. She needs your advice, your
knowledge of the world."
"Why, my dear Risler," Madame Georges replied, "Sidonie and I are
old friends. We have reason to be fond of each other still."
And her calm, straightforward glance strove unsuccessfully to meet that
of her old friend.
With his ignorance of women, and his habit of treating Sidonie as a
child, Risler continued in the same tone:
"Take her for your model, little one. There are not two people in the
world like Madame Chorche. She has her poor father's heart. A true
Fromont!"
Sidonie, with her eyes cast down, bowed without replying, while an
imperceptible shudder ran from the tip of her satin shoe to the topmost
bit of orange-blossom in her crown. But honest Risler saw nothing. The
excitement, the dancing, the music, the flowers, the lights made him
drunk, made him mad. He believed that every one breathed the same
atmosphere of bliss beyond compare which enveloped him. He had no
perception of the rivalries, the petty hatreds that met and passed one
another above all those bejewelled foreheads.
He did not notice Delobelle, standing with his elbow on the mantel, one
hand in the armhole of his waistcoat and his hat upon his hip, weary of
his eternal attitudinizing, while the hours slipped by and no one thought
of utilizing his talents. He did not notice M. Chebe, who was prowling
darkly between the two doors, more incensed than ever against the
Fromonts. Oh! those Fromonts!--How large a place they filled at that
wedding! They were all there with their wives, their children, their
friends, their friends' friends. One would have said that one of
themselves was being married. Who had a word to say of the Rislers or
the Chebes? Why, he--he, the father, had not even been presented!--
And the little man's rage was redoubled by the attitude of Madame
Chebe, smiling maternally upon one and all in her scarab-hued dress.

Furthermore, there were at this, as at almost all wedding-parties, two
distinct currents which came together but without mingling. One of the
two soon gave place to the other. The Fromonts, who irritated
Monsieur Chebe so much and who formed the aristocracy of the ball,
the president of the Chamber of Commerce, the syndic of the solicitors,
a famous chocolate-manufacturer and member of the Corps Legislatif,
and the old millionaire Gardinois, all retired shortly after midnight.
Georges Fromont and his wife entered their carriage behind them. Only
the Risler and Chebe party remained, and the festivity at once changed
its aspect, becoming more uproarious.
The illustrious Delobelle, disgusted to see that no one called upon him
for anything, decided to call upon himself for something, and began in
a voice as resonant as a gong the monologue from Ruy Blas: "Good
appetite, Messieurs!" while the guests thronged to the buffet, spread
with chocolate and glasses of punch. Inexpensive little costumes were
displayed upon the benches, overjoyed to produce their due effect at
last; and here and there divers young shop-clerks, consumed with
conceit, amused themselves by venturing upon a quadrille.
The bride had long wished to take her leave. At last she disappeared
with Risler and Madame Chebe. As for Monsieur Chebe, who had
recovered all his importance, it was impossible to induce him to go.
Some one must be there to do the honors, deuce take it! And I assure
you that the little man assumed the responsibility! He was flushed,
lively, frolicsome, noisy, almost seditious. On the floor below he could
be heard talking politics with Vefour's headwaiter, and making most
audacious statements.
Through the deserted streets the wedding-carriage, the tired coachman
holding the white reins somewhat loosely, rolled heavily toward the
Marais.
Madame Chebe talked continuously, enumerating all the splendors of
that memorable day, rhapsodizing especially over the dinner, the
commonplace menu of which had been to her the highest display of
magnificence. Sidonie mused in the darkness of the carriage, and Risler,
sitting opposite her, even though he no longer said, "I am very happy,"

continued to think it with all his heart. Once he tried to take possession
of a little white hand that rested against the closed window, but it was
hastily withdrawn, and he sat there without moving, lost in mute
admiration.
They drove through the Halles and the Rue de Rambuteau, thronged
with kitchen-gardeners' wagons; and, near the end of