Some day she wanted to be loved as Marius loved Cosette; but there was another character which bit far more deeply into her mind. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. Eh bien, why did he not repeat it? What was she to say? ‘Prudence,’ she began hesitantly, pronouncing the name in the French way, ‘has said that she will help me to—to marry an Englishman.
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