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.
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