"And you," she continued, "can you still keep that cross? Oh, no!
you must give me back that. It would remind you too often of vows
that were untrue."

"Marie," he said, "do not be so harsh to me."

"Harsh!" said she, "no; there has been enough of harshness. I would
not be harsh to you, Adolphe. But give me the cross; it would prove
a curse to you if you kept it."

He then opened a little box which stood upon the table, and taking
out the cross gave it to her.

"And now good-bye," she said. "We shall have but little more to say
to each other. I know this now, that I was wrong ever to have loved
you. I should have been to you as one of the other poor girls in the
house. But, oh! how was I to help it?" To this he made no answer,
and she, closing the door softly, went back to her chamber. And thus
ended the first day of Adolphe Bauche's return to his own house.

On the next morning the capitaine and Marie were formally betrothed.
This was done with some little ceremony, in the presence of all the
guests who were staying at the establishment, and with all manner of
gracious acknowledgments of Marie's virtues. It seemed as though La
Mere Bauche could not be courteous enough to her. There was no more
talk of her being a child of charity; no more allusion now to the
gutter. La Mere Bauche with her own hand brought her cake with a
glass of wine after her betrothal was over, and patted her on the
cheek, and called her her dear little Marie Campan. And then the
capitaine was made up of infinite politeness, and the guests all