"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 voilà, it's done. Oui, by Sainte Marie!"
She threw her arms about him, crushing 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."