All these things took months to say, during which period Marie went on with her work in melancholy¹ listlessness.  One comfort she had.  Adolphe, before he went, had promised to her, holding in his hand as he did so a little cross which she had given him, that no earthly consideration should sever² them;—that sooner or later he would certainly be her husband.  Marie felt that her limbs could not work nor her tongue speak were it not for this one drop of water in her cup.

And then, deeply meditating³, La Mère Bauche hit upon a plan, and herself communicated it to the capitaine over a second cup of coffee into which she poured a full teaspoonful⁴ more than the usual allowance of cognac.  Why should not he, the capitaine himself, be the man to marry Marie Clavert?

It was a very startling proposal, the idea of matrimony for himself never having as yet entered into the capitaine’s head at any period of his life; but La Mère Bauche did contrive⁵ to make it not altogether unacceptable.  As to that matter of dowry she was prepared to be more than generous.  She did love Marie well, and could find it in her heart to give her anything—any thing except her son, her own Adolphe.  What she proposed was this.  Adolphe, himself, would never keep the baths.  If the capitaine would take Marie for his wife, Marie, Madame Bauche declared, should be the mistress after her death; subject of course to certain settlements as to Adolphe’s pecuniary⁶ interests.

The plan was discussed a thousand times, and at last so far brought to bear that Marie was made acquainted with it—having been called in to sit in presence with La Mère Bauche and her future proposed husband.  The poor girl manifested no disgust to the stiff ungainly lover whom they assigned to her,—who through his whole frame was in appearance almost as wooden as his own leg.  On the whole, indeed, Marie liked the capitaine, and felt that he was her friend; and in her country such marriages were not

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