"You want me and I should like you too, shake hands on it and let us enjoy ourselves." A dozen times if she had liked Musette could have secured a good position, which is termed a future, but she did not believe in the future and professed the scepticism of Figaro respecting it.
"Tomorrow," she sometimes remarked, "is an absurdity of the almanac, it is a daily pretext that men have invented in order to put off their business today.

Tomorrow may be an earthquake.

Today, at any rate, we are on solid ground." One day a gentleman with whom she had stayed nearly six months, and who had become wildly in love with her, seriously proposed marriage.
Musette burst out laughing in his face at this offer.
"I imprison my liberty in the bonds of matrimony?
Never," said she.
"But I pass my time in trembling with fear of losing you." "It would be worse if I were your wife.

Do not let us speak about that any more.

Besides, I am not free," she added, thinking no doubt of Marcel.
Thus she passed her youth, her mind caught by every straw blown by the breeze of fancy, causing the happiness of a great many and almost happy herself.