was growing very scant. In three months Adolphe would be back. And
if everything was not arranged by that time, matters might still go
astray.

And then Madame Bauche asked her final question: "You do not think,
do you, that you can ever marry Adolphe?" And as she asked it the
accustomed terror of her green spectacles magnified itself tenfold.
Marie could only answer by another burst of tears.

The affair was at last settled among them. Marie said that she would
consent to marry the capitaine when she should hear from Adolphe's
own mouth that he, Adolphe, loved her no longer. She declared with
many tears that her vows and pledges prevented her from promising
more than this. It was not her fault, at any rate not now, that she
loved her lover. It was not her fault--not now at least--that she
was bound by these pledges. When she heard from his own mouth that
he had discarded her, then she would marry the capitaine--or indeed
sacrifice herself in any other way that La Mere Bauche might desire.
What would anything signify then?

Madame Bauche's spectacles remained unmoved; but not her heart.
Marie, she told the capitaine, should be equal to herself in the
establishment, when once she was entitled to be called Madame Campan,
and she should be to her quite as a daughter. She should have her
cup of coffee every evening, and dine at the big table, and wear a
silk gown at church, and the servants should all call her Madame; a
great career should be open to her, if she would only give up her
foolish girlish childish love for Adolphe. And all these great
promises were repeated to Marie by the capitaine.