If he wished, he could even take this inheritance from her. Did she suppose him a possible pretender to her daughter’s hand? The girl—Dorothée, if memory served—was clearly marriageable, but he imagined most of these unhappy exiles were all but penniless. She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. The music confused and distracted her, and made her struggle against a feeling of intoxication. His interest was divided: while his ears drank in the sounds, his glance constantly roved from Ruth to the performer and back to Ruth. "If you doubt my word, woman," replied the carpenter's wife, coldly, "ask Mr.
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