skirt was slipped down over her head until it stood out in light, stiff
pleats; the white bodice encased her body firmly and stuck out above the
shoulders, its puffed sleeves trimmed with little white-satin bows and
ribbons at every seam and fold. Over it hung the veil, which shrouded her
as in a white cloud. The wreath was put on, looked at from a distance and
put on again until it was right at last, with the glittering beads in
front, shining among the auburn curls, and the long streamer of threaded
lilies of the valley behind, nestling in the tresses on her back. The
white gloves, her prayer-book and candle-cloth, a few pennies in her bead
purse; and 'twas done.

The child was constantly twisted and turned and examined from every side.
She did not know herself in all her splendour: the Horieneke of
yesterday, in her blue bird's-eye bib and black frock was a poor thing
compared with the present Horieneke, something far removed from this
white apparition, something quite forgotten. She stood stiff as a post in
the middle of the kitchen, without daring to look round or stir; she felt
so light and airy in those rustling folds and pleats and all that muslin
that she seemed not to touch the ground. She did not know what to do with
her arms, how to tread with her feet; and her thoughts were straying: the
part she had to play was all gone out of her head; she would be as fine
as this all day long, but oh, so uncomfortable!

Mother put on stockings and shoes, donned her cap, turned her apron,
threw her cloak over her shoulders; she called her husband; then:

"There, boys, we're off; don't forget your drop of holy water, all of
you!"

The door fell back into the latch with a bang; and the three of them were