"Na, it's over now," said Frau Rupp, stretching her fat hands over the
table and regarding her three mourning rings with intense enjoyment; "but
one must be careful, especially at a wedding."

"And such a wedding as this," cried Frau Ledermann, who sat on the other
side of Frau Brechenmacher. "Fancy Theresa bringing that child with her.
It's her own child, you know, my dear, and it's going to live with them.
That's what I call a sin against the Church for a free-born child to attend
its own mother's wedding."

The three women sat and stared at the bride, who remained very still, with
a little vacant smile on her lips, only her eyes shifting uneasily from
side to side.

"Beer they've given it, too," whispered Frau Rupp, "and white wine and an
ice. It never did have a stomach; she ought to have left it at home."

Frau Brechenmacher turned round and looked towards the bride's mother. She
never took her eyes off her daughter, but wrinkled her brown forehead like
an old monkey, and nodded now and again very solemnly. Her hands shook as
she raised her beer mug, and when she had drunk she spat on the floor and
savagely wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Then the music started and she
followed Theresa with her eyes, looking suspiciously at each man who danced
with her.

"Cheer up, old woman," shouted her husband, digging her in the ribs; "this
isn't Theresa's funeral." He winked at the guests, who broke into loud
laughter.

"I AM cheerful," mumbled the old woman, and beat upon the table with her