‘I do not command your services, mon major. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. I suppose that’s the gist of the whole thing. He has nothing to fall back upon, no substitute; but a woman always has the mother love. She had been quite convinced that an engagement with him and at last a marriage had exactly that quality of compromise which distinguishes the ways of the wise. Would that a certain major might cast upon her such a look. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling.
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