Jeannette, who was the fille de cabaret, soon appeared with a bottle of wine, seldom called for, except by the captain of the Happy-go-lucky.
“You sail to-night?” said she, as she placed the bottle before him.
Pickersgill nodded his head.
“I had a strange dream,” said Jeannette; “I thought you were all taken by a revenue-cutter, and put in a cachot. I went to see you, and I did not know one of you again—you were all changed.”
“Very likely, Jeannette; you would not be the first who did not know their friends again when in misfortune. There was nothing strange in your dream.”
“Mais, mon Dieu! Je ne suis pas comme ça, moi.”
“No, that you are not, Jeannette; you are a good girl, and some of these fine days I’ll marry you,” said Corbett.
“Doit être bien beau ce jour là, par exemple,” replied Jeannette, laughing; “you have promised to marry me every time you have come in these last three years.”
“Well, that proves I keep to my promise, anyhow.”
“Yes; but you never go any further.”