we will come."
I went home to tell Father Goulden of my invitation, and he was all the more pleased as Catherine and her aunt were to be there also.
I never had been more happy than when thinking of having my beloved, my best friend, and all those whom I loved the most, together at our house.
That day at eleven o'clock our large room on the first floor was a pretty sight to see. The floor had been well scrubbed, the round table in the middle of the room was covered with a beautiful cloth with red stripes and six large silver covers upon it, the napkins folded like a boat in the shining plates, the salt-cellar and the sealed bottles, and the large cut glasses sparkling in the sun which came over the groups of lilac ranged along the windows.
Mr. Goulden wished to have everything in abundance, grand and magnificent, as he would for princes and embassadors, and he had taken his silver from the basket, a most unusual thing; I had made the soup myself. In it there were three pounds of good meat, a head of cabbage, carrots in abundance, indeed everything necessary; except that, – which you can never have so good at an hotel, – everything had been ordered by Mr. Goulden himself from the "Ville de Metz."
About noon we looked at each other, smiling and rubbing our hands, he in his beautiful nut-brown coat, well shaved, and with his great peruke a little rusty, in place of his old black silk cap, his maroon breeches neatly turned over his thick woollen stockings, and shoes with great buckles on his feet; while I had on my sky-blue coat of the latest fashion, my shirt finely plaited in front, and happiness in my heart.
All that was lacking now was our guests – Catherine, Aunt Grédel, the grave-digger, and Zébédé. We walked up and down laughing and saying, "Everything is in its place and we had best get out the soup-tureen." And I looked out now and then to see if they were coming.
At last Aunt Grédel and Catherine turned the corner of the rue Foquet; they came from mass and had their prayer-books under their arms, and farther on I saw the old grave-digger in his fine coat with wide sleeves, and his old three-cornered hat, and Zébédé, who had put on a clean shirt and shaved himself. They came from the side next the ramparts arm in arm, gravely, like men who are sober because they are perfectly happy.
"Here they are," I said to Father Goulden.
We just had time to pour out the soup and put the big tureen, smoking hot in the middle of the table. This was happily accomplished just as Aunt Grédel and Catherine came in. You can judge of their surprise on seeing the beautiful table. We had hardly kissed each other when aunt exclaimed:
"It is the wedding-day then, Mr. Goulden."
"Yes, Madame Grédel," the good man answered smiling, – on days of ceremony he always called her Madame instead of Mother Grédel, "yes, the wedding of good friends. You know that Zébédé has just returned, and he will dine with us to-day with the old grave-digger."
"Ah!" said aunt, "that will give me great pleasure."
Catherine blushed deeply, and said to me in a low voice:
"Now everything is as it should be, that was what we wanted to make us perfectly happy."
She looked tenderly at me as she held my hand. Just then some one opened the door, and old Laurent from the "Ville de Metz," with two high baskets in which dishes were ranged in beautiful order one above the other, cried out, "Mr. Goulden, here is the dinner!"
"Very well!" said Mr. Goulden, "now arrange it on the table yourself."
And Laurent put on the radishes first, the fricasseed chicken and beautiful fat goose at the right, and on the left the beef which we had ourselves arranged with parsley in the plate. He put on also a nice plate of sauerkraut with little sausages, near the soup. Such a dinner had never been seen in our house before.
Just at that moment we heard Zébédé and his father coming up the stairs, and Father Goulden and I ran to meet them. Mr. Goulden embraced Zébédé and said:
"How happy I am to see you, I know you showed yourself a good comrade for Joseph in the midst of the greatest danger."
Then he shook the old grave-digger's hand, saying, "I am proud of you for having such a son."
Then Catherine, who had come behind us, said to Zébédé:
"I could not please Joseph more than to embrace you, you would have carried him to Hanau only your strength failed. I look upon you as a brother."
Then Zébédé, who was very pale, kissed her without saying a word, and we all went into the room in silence, Catherine, Zébédé, and I first, Mr. Goulden and the old grave-digger came afterward. Aunt Grédel arranged the dishes a little and then said:
"You are welcome, you are welcome! you who met in sorrow, have rejoined each other in joy. May God send his grace on us all."
Zébédé kissed Aunt Grédel and said, "Always fresh and in good health, it is a pleasure to see you."
"Come, Father Zébédé, sit at the head of the table, and you there, Zébédé, that I may have you on my right and my left, Joseph will sit farther down, opposite Catherine, and Madame Grédel at the other end to watch over all."
Each one was satisfied with his place, and Zébédé smiled and looked at me as if he would say: "If we had had the quarter of such a dinner as this at Hanau, we should never have fallen by the roadside." Joy and a good appetite shone on every face. Father Goulden dipped the great silver ladle into the soup as we all looked on, and served first the old grave-digger, who said nothing and seemed touched by this honor, then his son, and then Catherine, Aunt Grédel, himself, and me. And the dinner was begun quietly.
Zébédé winked and looked at me from time to time with great satisfaction. We uncorked the first bottle and filled the glasses. This was very good wine, but there was better coming, so we did not drink each other's health yet, we each ate a good slice of beef, and Father Goulden said:
"Here is something good, this beef is excellent." He found the fricassee very good also, and then I saw that Catherine was a woman of spirit, for she said:
"You know, Mr. Zébédé, that we should have invited your grandmother Margaret, whom I go to see from time to time, only she is too old to go out, but if you wish, she shall at least eat a morsel with us, and drink her grandson's health in a glass of wine. What do you say, Father Zébédé?"
"I was just thinking of that," said the old man.
Father Goulden looked at Catherine with tears in his eyes, and as she rose to select a suitable piece for the old woman, he kissed her, and I heard him call her his daughter.
She went out with a bottle and a plate; and while she was gone Zébédé said to me:
"Joseph, she who is soon to be your wife deserves to be perfectly happy, for she is not only a good girl, not only a woman who ought to be loved, but she deserves respect also, for she has a good and feeling heart. She saw what my father and I thought of this excellent dinner, and she knew it would give us a thousand times more pleasure if grandmother could share it. I shall love her for it, as if she were my sister." Then he added in a low voice: "It is when we are happy that we feel the bitterness of poverty. It is not enough to give our blood to our country, but there is suffering at home in consequence, and when we return we must have misery before our eyes."
I saw that he was growing sad, so I filled his glass and we drank, and his melancholy vanished. Catherine came back and said, "the grandmother was very happy, and that she thanked Mr. Goulden, and said
