"So this affair here is more than a triumph: it's the promise of yet another harvest.
Well, I'm no longer surprised at the crush of people." At this moment the organs suddenly burst into a glorious hymn of greeting.

The marriage procession was entering the church.

A loud clamour had gone up from the crowd, which spread over the roadway of the Rue Royale and impeded the traffic there, while the _cortege_ pompously ascended the steps in the bright sunshine.

And it was now entering the edifice and advancing beneath the lofty, re-echoing vaults towards the high altar which flared with candles, whilst on either hand crowded the congregation, the men on the right and the women on the left.

They had all risen and stood there smiling, with necks outstretched and eyes glowing with curiosity.
First, in the rear of the magnificent beadle, came Camille, leaning on the arm of her father, Baron Duvillard, who wore a proud expression befitting a day of victory.