respectfully in his honor. They were asked to sit down again and they
had to wait through three other marriages. The hall was crowded with the
three bourgeois wedding parties: brides all in white, little girls
with carefully curled hair, bridesmaids wearing wide sashes, an endless
procession of ladies and gentlemen dressed in their best and looking
very stylish.

When at length they were called, they almost missed being married
altogether. Bibi-the-Smoker having disappeared. Boche discovered him
outside smoking his pipe. Well! They were a nice lot inside there to
humbug people about like that, just because one hadn't yellow kid gloves
to shove under their noses! And the various formalities--the reading
of the Code, the different questions to be put, the signing of all the
documents--were all got through so rapidly that they looked at each
other with an idea that they had been robbed of a good half of the
ceremony. Gervaise, dizzy, her heart full, pressed her handkerchief to
her lips. Mother Coupeau wept bitterly. All had signed the register,
writing their names in big struggling letters with the exception of the
bridegroom, who not being able to write, had put his cross. They each
gave four sous for the poor. When an attendant handed Coupeau the
marriage certificate, the latter, prompted by Gervaise who nudged his
elbow, handed him another five sous.

It was a fair walk from the mayor's office in the town hall to the
church. The men stopped along the way to have a beer. Mother Coupeau and
Gervaise took cassis with water. Then they had to trudge along the long
street where the sun glared straight down without the relief of shade.

When they arrived at the church they were hurried along and asked if
they came so late in order to make a mockery of religion. A priest came