Part 13 (2/2)
”Bah!” said he, ”you are crazy--one must study to cook; besides, you are not yet eighteen, the Pere Bourron has yet the right to you for a year.”
”That is true,” confessed the girl simply; ”one has not much chance when one is an orphan. Listen, Jean.”
”What?”
”Listen--is it true that thou dost love me?”
”Surely,” he replied with an easy laugh.
”Listen,” she repeated timidly; ”if thou shouldst get steady work--I should be content ... to be...” But her voice became inaudible.
”_Allons!_... what?” he demanded irritably.
”To ... to be married,” she whispered.
He started. ”_Eh ben! en voila_ an idea!” he exclaimed.
”Forgive me, Jean, I have always had that idea----” She dried her eyes on the back of her hand and tried hard to smile. ”It is foolish, eh? The marriage costs so dear ... but if thou shouldst get steady work...”
”_Eh ben!_” he answered slowly with his Normand shrewdness, ”I don't say no.”
”I'll help thee, Jean; I can work hard when I am free. One wins forty sous a day by was.h.i.+ng, and then there is the harvest.”
There was a certain stubborn conviction in her words which worried him.
”_Eh ben!_” he said at length, ”we might get married--that's so.”
She caught her breath.
”Swear it, Jean, that thou wilt marry me, swear it upon Sainte Marie.”
”_Eh voila_, it's done. _Oui_, by Sainte Marie!”
She threw her arms about him, crus.h.i.+ng him against her breast.
”_Dieu!_ but thou art strong,” he whispered.
”Did I hurt thee?”
”No--thou art content now?”
”Yes--I am content,” she sobbed, ”I am content, I am content.”
He had slipped to the ground beside her. She drew his head back in her lap, her hand pressed hard against his forehead.
”_Dieu!_ but I am content,” she breathed in his ear.
He felt her warm tears dropping fast upon his cheek.