"
"What did you let him off?"
"Seventeen sous," replied Corbett, laughing.
"And that satisfied him?" inquired Pickersgill.
"Yes--it was all he could prove to be a _surfaire_: two of the knives
were a little rusty. But he will always have something off; he could not
be happy without it. I really think he would commit suicide, if he had
to pay a bill without a deduction."
"Let him live," replied Pickersgill. "Jeannette, a bottle of Volnay, of
1811, and three glasses."
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 ca 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 etre bien beau ce jour la, 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, any how."
"Yes; but you never go any further.
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