ng whom was
even one of Ninon's slaves; but as marriage was not the object of these
attentions, and the young girl would not relinquish her virtue, she
remained for some time unmarried but respectable. Scarron was
particularly fond of her, and well knew that, portionless as she was,
the poor girl would have but little chance of making a match. His
kindness touched her, his wit charmed her; she pitied his infirmities,
and as his neighbour, frequently saw and tried to console him. On the
other hand the cripple, though forty years old, and in a state of health
which it is impossible to describe, fell positively in love with the
young girl, who alone of all the ladies who visited him combined wit
with perfect modesty. He pitied her destitution. There was mutual pity,
and we all know what passion that feeling is akin to.

Still, for a paralytic, utterly unfit for marriage in any point of view,
to offer to a beautiful young girl, would have seemed ridiculous, if not
unpardonable. But let us take into account the difference in ideas of
matrimony between ourselves and the French. We must remember that
marriage has always been regarded among our neighbours as a contract for
mutual benefit, into which the consideration of money of necessity
entered largely. It is true that some qualities are taken as equivalents
for actual cash: thus, if a young man has a straight and well-cut nose
he may sell himself at a higher price than a young man there with the
hideous pug; if a girl is beautiful, the marquis will be content with
some thousands of francs less for her dower than if her hair were red or
her complexion irreclaimably brown. If Julie has a pretty foot, a
_svelte_ waist, and can play the piano thunderingly, or sing in the
charmingest soprano, her ten thousand francs are quite as acceptable as
those of stout awkward, glum-faced Jeannette. The faultless boots and
yellow kids of young Adolphe counterbalance the somewhat apocryphal
vicomte of ill-kempt and ill-attired Henri.

But then there must be _some_ fortune. A Frenchman is so much in the
habit of expecting it, that he thinks it almost a crime to fall in love
where there is none. Francoise, pretty, clever, agreeable as she was,
was penniless, and even worse, she was the daughter of a man who had
been imprisoned on suspicion of murder, and a woman who had gained her
livelihood by needlework. All these considerations made the fancy of the
merry abbe less ridiculous, and Francoise