"And why should you go mad with joy?"
"Because—because,—it is too much—"
"What?"
"I mean that what you propose is too great happiness for one like me to hope for. Oh, indeed, indeed, it is more than I can bear! But who knows? Perhaps saving La Goualeuse has brought me good luck,—that's it, I am sure and certain."
"Still, I ask you, what is the matter, and why are you thus agitated?" exclaimed Martial.
"Oh, Martial, Martial, the very thing you have been proposing—"
"Well?"
"I was going to ask you."
"To quit Paris?"
"Yes," replied she, in a hurried tone; "and to try your consent to accompany you to the forests, where we should have a nice, neat little house, and children whom I should love as La Louve would the children of her man—or, if you would permit me," continued La Louve, in a faltering voice, "instead of calling you 'my man,' to say 'my husband?' For," added she, confusedly and rapidly, "for without that change, we should not obtain the place."