The clergyman, however, smiled. And Reverdy
left the side of his bride and went to the door.
He flung it open. And there burst upon my vision the wildest assemblage
of faces I had ever seen. Some were blacked to resemble the negro. Some
were painted to look like the Indian on the warpath. They were dressed
fantastically, in a variety of colors, with feathers in their hair or
hats or coon caps. They leered, grinned from ear to ear. They yelled,
and again began to beat their pans and kettles and to fire their rifles.
Sarah put her fingers to her lips in a gesture of terror, of violated
privacy. But after all this was but the frontier's hymeneal chant, the
festivities of the uninvited wedding guests. To quiet them it was
necessary to ask them to partake of the wedding delicacies.
They pushed and writhed into the room. Some of them were half drunk.
They trod upon each other. What they might have done if Reverdy had not
managed them out of the kindness of his heart and with a certain
adroitness is past conceiving. It seemed to me that a riot was on the
point of breaking loose at any minute. But having satisfied themselves,
they began to file out. Some lingered to wish the bride and groom a
happy life. Reverdy spoke with each one in such friendliness of voice
and manner, in which there was neither nervousness nor resentment.
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