forward, his face pale and resentful from having to delay his lunch. An
altar boy in a soiled surplice ran before him.

The mass went very fast, with the priest turning, bowing his head,
spreading out his arms, making all the ritual gestures in haste while
casting sidelong glances at the group. Gervaise and Coupeau, before the
altar, were embarrassed, not knowing when they should kneel or rise
or seat themselves, expecting some indication from the attendant. The
witnesses, not knowing what was proper, remained standing during the
ceremony. Mother Coupeau was weeping again and shedding her tears into
the missal she had borrowed from a neighbor.

Meanwhile, the noon chimes had sounded and the church began to fill with
noise from the shuffling feet of sacristans and the clatter of chairs
being put back in place. The high altar was apparently being prepared
for some special ceremony.

Thus, in the depths of this obscure chapel, amid the floating dust, the
surly priest placed his withered hands on the bared heads of Gervaise
and Coupeau, blessing their union amid a hubbub like that of moving day.
The wedding party signed another registry, this time in the sacristy,
and then found themselves out in the bright sunlight before the church
doors where they stood for a moment, breathless and confused from having
been carried along at such a break-neck speed.

"Voila!" said Coupeau with an embarrassed laugh. "Well, it sure didn't
take long. They shove it at you so; it's like being at the painless
dentist's who doesn't give you time to cry out. Here you get a painless
wedding!"