bright light on the walls decorated with paper flowers and garlands; shed a
warmer, brighter light on the red faces of the guests in their best
clothes.

At the head of the centre table sat the bride and bridegroom, she in a
white dress trimmed with stripes and bows of coloured ribbon, giving her
the appearance of an iced cake all ready to be cut and served in neat
little pieces to the bridegroom beside her, who wore a suit of white
clothes much too large for him and a white silk tie that rose halfway up
his collar. Grouped about them, with a fine regard for dignity and
precedence, sat their parents and relations; and perched on a stool at the
bride's right hand a little girl in a crumpled muslin dress with a wreath
of forget-me-nots hanging over one ear. Everybody was laughing and
talking, shaking hands, clinking glasses, stamping on the floor--a stench
of beer and perspiration filled the air.

Frau Brechenmacher, following her man down the room after greeting the
bridal party, knew that she was going to enjoy herself. She seemed to fill
out and become rosy and warm as she sniffed that familiar festive smell.
Somebody pulled at her skirt, and, looking down, she saw Frau Rupp, the
butcher's wife, who pulled out an empty chair and begged her to sit beside
her.

"Fritz will get you some beer," she said. "My dear, your skirt is open at
the back. We could not help laughing as you walked up the room with the
white tape of your petticoat showing!"

"But how frightful!" said Frau Brechenmacher, collapsing into her chair and
biting her lip.