“But what would you do?” “I would work. There are other houses beside that one,” and she pointed to the slate roof of the Bauche establishment. “And for me--I should not have a penny in the world,” said the young man. She came up to him and took his right hand between both of hers and pressed it warmly, oh, so warmly. “You would have my love,” said she; “my deepest, warmest, best heart’s love. I should want nothing more, nothing on earth, if I could still have yours.” And she leaned against his shoulder and looked with all her eyes into his face. “But, Marie, that’s nonsense, you know.” “No, Adolphe, it is not nonsense. Do not let them teach you so. What does love mean, if it does not mean that? Oh, Adolphe, you do love me, you do love me, you do love me?” “Yes;--I love you,” he said slowly;--as though he would not have said it, if he could have helped it. And then his arm crept slowly round her waist, as though in that also he could not help himself. “And do not I love you?” said the passionate girl. “Oh, I do, so dearly; with all my heart, with all my soul. Adolphe, I so love you, that I cannot give you up. Have I not sworn to be yours; sworn, sworn a thousand times? How can I marry that man! Oh Adolphe, how can you wish that I should marry him?” And she clung to him, and looked at him, and besought him with her eyes. “I shouldn’t wish it;--only--” and then he paused. It was hard to tell her that he was willing to sacrifice her to the old man because he wanted money from his mother. “Only what! But, Adolphe, do not wish it at all! Have you not sworn that I should be your wife? Look here, look at this;” and she brought out from her bosom a little charm that he had given her in return for that cross. “Did you not kiss that when you swore before the figure of the Virgin that I should be your wife? And do you not remember that I feared to swear too, because your mother was so angry; and then you made me? After that, Adolphe! Oh, Adolphe! Tell me that I may have some hope. I will wait; oh, I will wait so patiently.” He turned himself away from her and walked backwards and forwards uneasily through the grotto. He did love her;--love her as such men do love sweet, pretty girls. The warmth of her hand, the affection of her touch, the pure bright passion of her tear-laden eye had re-awakened what power of love there was within him. But what was he to do? Even if he were willing to give up the immediate golden hopes which his mother held out to him, how was he to begin, and then how carry out this work of self-devotion? Marie would be turned away, and he would be left a victim in the hands of his mother, and of that stiff, wooden-legged militaire;--a penniless victim, left to mope about the place without a grain of influence or a morsel of pleasure. “But what can we do?” he exclaimed again, as he once more met Marie’s searching eye.