CHAPTER I

A WEDDING-PARTY AT THE CAFE VEFOUR

"Madame Chebe!"

"My boy--"

"I am so happy!"

This was the twentieth time that day that the good Risler had said that
he was happy, and always with the same emotional and contented manner,
in the same low, deep voice-the voice that is held in check by emotion
and does not speak too loud for fear of suddenly breaking into violent
tears.

Not for the world would Risler have wept at that moment--imagine a newly-
made husband giving way to tears in the midst of the wedding-festival!
And yet he had a strong inclination to do so. His happiness stifled him,
held him by the throat, prevented the words from coming forth. All that
he could do was to murmur from time to time, with a slight trembling of
the lips, "I am happy; I am happy!"

Indeed, he had reason to be happy.

Since early morning the poor man had fancied that he was being whirled
along in one of those magnificent dreams from which one fears lest he may