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WHEN SHE RETURNS home, Cornélie takes one look at her and begins to cry. From her mother’s red and swollen eyes, it’s obvious that these are not the first tears of the day. Berthe sits and places her arms around her mother. “Papa wouldn’t want you to be so sad all the time,” she says.

Cornélie presses a handkerchief to her nose and shakes her head.

“I know how much you miss him, but—”

“I do miss him, but my tears are not for him.”

Berthe pulls away. “What’s wrong?” she demands, thinking of her sisters, their children, Tiburce. “Was there an accident? Is someone ill?” Please, she prays, not another loss. Her mother will not be able to bear it. Nor will she.

Cornélie shakes her head again. Her lips quiver, and her crumpled face makes her appear twice her age. “I’m, I’m not a young woman…”

Berthe gasps. “Are you sick? Has the doctor been here?”

“No,” Maman says quickly, clutching Berthe’s hands. “No, no, it is not I. It, it is you.”

Berthe drops her head to the back of the couch and closes her eyes. She doesn’t have the strength to hear any more of Gène Manet.

“Bijou, please, please consent to this marriage. The other Manet will never marry you, and after the catastrophe at your show, what else is there for you?”

“No,” Berthe says without moving.

Cornélie is not to be dissuaded. “Gène is very much in love. He will be a good husband and take care of you.”

When Berthe doesn’t respond, she adds, “If you can’t do this for yourself, do it for me. I may not be around much longer, and I do not want to spend my last days fearing for your future. I cannot bear for you to be alone after I’m gone.”

Berthe wants to call her mother out on the heartlessness of her words, on the immorality of using Berthe’s fear of her death to prod her daughter to comply with her wishes.

But she has no fight left in her. And how much does it matter?

How much does anything matter, given the bleakness ahead?

At least if she does as Cornélie asks, as Edma and Yves and édouard ask too, she will become a Manet, sister-in-law to édouard, taking the scraps, holidays with him and Suzanne, a kiss on the cheek.

IN DECEMBER, BERTHE puts on a long-sleeved, unembellished black dress to marry Gène.

It’s an ensemble more suited to a walk through the city than to a bride, but as this is to be a civil ceremony, there will be no elaborate service and few guests.

Not the wedding their mothers would have chosen, but Berthe refuses to participate in a spectacle for a marriage she has been practically forced into by those she trusted most. She uses the excuse of her father’s recent death for the simplicity, but she doubts anyone is fooled.

Edma and Yves have traveled to Paris for the event, but as she holds her sisters partially responsible for this debacle, their attendance does nothing to cheer her.

She knows Gène would also prefer a church and a well-attended celebratory dinner, but he’s so astounded she’s agreed to be his wife that he’s amenable to whatever will make this so.

Edma points out that this type of adoration and acquiescence are valuable attributes in a husband.

“It’s always better to be the one who loves less,” she says as she tries to fluff Berthe’s skirt in a futile attempt to make it appear more festive.

“You will always hold the most sway, and you will be shielded from the pain of the deception all men eventually commit against their wives.”

Berthe turns and looks at her sister in disbelief.

Edma, of all people, is aware of the excruciating pain she, Berthe, is suffering at this very moment.

To be marrying Gène with édouard standing beside his brother in support of the nuptials.

To become Madame Manet with the wrong Manet as her husband.

How can Edma think there is anything about this situation that will shield her from this deepest of wounds?

Edma touches her cheek. “I’m just trying to find the brighter side.”

“Don’t bother. There is none.”

It’s snowing as Rémy drives them to the municipal building, and those inside the carriage are silent during the ride.

The edifice is decidedly grand, neoclassical, with pediments and ornate friezes, massive columns framing a wide stairway.

Just as quietly they ascend the steps. It’s all Berthe can do to stop herself from rushing back to the street and begging Rémy to take her home.

Instead, she walks through the door. The interior is far less impressive than the exterior, as nothing here has been repaired since the war.

Cracks fork along the walls and floors, boulders litter the edges of the hallways.

Berthe can’t help but note that this destruction and lack of resurrection are an apt metaphor for what is to come.

Gène, Antoinette, Léon, Suzanne, and édouard are already in the room when they arrive. Gène rushes to her, takes her hands. “You are so fetching, my love. My very own beautiful bride.”

Berthe lowers her eyes but doesn’t remove her hands from his. She’s sorry she will not be the wife he hopes for, and it occurs to her that he’s just as much a casualty of these maneuverings as she is.

Antoinette hugs her and calls her “daughter.” Suzanne does the same and calls her “sister.” édouard and Léon bow. Cornélie, Yves, and Edma come forward to hug Antoinette and Suzanne, then nod to Gène, Léon, and édouard. Berthe looks at her feet, and no one says anything. One big happy family.

They all appear thankful when the magistrate enters, but Berthe is filled with dismay. This is going to happen. This is going to happen now. There is no way out for her. She dares a glance at édouard, but he’s engrossed in straightening Gène’s already straight bow tie. Or pretending to be.

The magistrate clears his throat, places Berthe and Gène in front of him, while the rest fan out behind them.

It is mercifully quick, only a few words, the exchange of rings, a perfunctory kiss.

A luncheon follows, and then she and Gène leave for his large house at 40 Rue de Villejust, where they will live.

That night, Berthe experiences the act in the way Edma had described it.

No sweetness, no love, no pleasure, and, yes, humiliating.