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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Golden Lion of Granpere, by Anthony Trollope
+(#35 in our series by Anthony Trollope)
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+Title: The Golden Lion of Granpere
+
+Author: Anthony Trollope
+
+Release Date: March, 2004  [EBook #5202]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on June 4, 2002]
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+Edition: 10
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+Language: English
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+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE GOLDEN LION OF GRANPERE ***
+
+
+
+
+
+This etext was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.
+
+
+
+
+THE GOLDEN LION OF GRANPERE, BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER I.
+
+Up among the Vosges mountains in Lorraine, but just outside the old
+half-German province of Alsace, about thirty miles distant from the
+new and thoroughly French baths of Plombieres, there lies the
+village of Granpere.  Whatever may be said or thought here in
+England of the late imperial rule in France, it must at any rate be
+admitted that good roads were made under the Empire.  Alsace, which
+twenty years ago seems to have been somewhat behindhand in this
+respect, received her full share of Napoleon's attention, and
+Granpere is now placed on an excellent road which runs from the town
+of Remiremont on one line of railway, to Colmar on another.  The
+inhabitants of the Alsatian Ballon hills and the open valleys among
+them seem to think that the civilisation of great cities has been
+brought near enough to them, as there is already a diligence running
+daily from Granpere to Remiremont;--and at Remiremont you are on the
+railway, and, of course, in the middle of everything.
+
+And indeed an observant traveller will be led to think that a great
+deal of what may most truly be called civilisation has found its way
+in among the Ballons, whether it travelled thither by the new-
+fangled railways and imperial routes, or found its passage along the
+valley streams before imperial favours had been showered upon the
+district.  We are told that when Pastor Oberlin was appointed to his
+cure as Protestant clergyman in the Ban de la Roche a little more
+than one hundred years ago,--that was, in 1767,--this region was
+densely dark and far behind in the world's running as regards all
+progress.  The people were ignorant, poor, half-starved, almost
+savage, destitute of communication, and unable to produce from their
+own soil enough food for their own sustenance.  Of manufacturing
+enterprise they understood nothing, and were only just far enough
+advanced in knowledge for the Protestants to hate the Catholics, and
+the Catholics to hate the Protestants.  Then came that wonderful
+clergyman, Pastor Oberlin,--he was indeed a wonderful clergyman,--
+and made a great change.  Since that there have been the two
+empires, and Alsace has looked up in the world.  Whether the thanks
+of the people are more honestly due to Oberlin or to the late
+Emperor, the author of this little story will not pretend to say;
+but he will venture to express his opinion that at present the rural
+Alsatians are a happy, prosperous people, with the burden on their
+shoulders of but few paupers, and fewer gentlemen,--apparently a
+contented people, not ambitious, given but little to politics.
+Protestants and Catholics mingled without hatred or fanaticism,
+educated though not learned, industrious though not energetic, quiet
+and peaceful, making linen and cheese, growing potatoes, importing
+corn, coming into the world, marrying, begetting children, and dying
+in the wholesome homespun fashion which is so sweet to us in that
+mood of philosophy which teaches us to love the country and to
+despise the town.  Whether it be better for a people to achieve an
+even level of prosperity, which is shared by all, but which makes
+none eminent, or to encounter those rough, ambitious, competitive
+strengths which produce both palaces and poor-houses, shall not be
+matter of argument here; but the teller of this story is disposed to
+think that the chance traveller, as long as he tarries at Granpere,
+will insensibly and perhaps unconsciously become an advocate of the
+former doctrine; he will be struck by the comfort which he sees
+around him, and for a while will dispense with wealth, luxury,
+scholarships, and fashion.  Whether the inhabitants of these hills
+and valleys will advance to farther progress now that they are again
+to become German, is another question, which the writer will not
+attempt to answer here.
+
+Granpere in itself is a very pleasing village.  Though the amount of
+population and number of houses do not suffice to make it more than
+a village, it covers so large a space of ground as almost to give it
+a claim to town honours.  It is perhaps a full mile in length; and
+though it has but one street, there are buildings standing here and
+there, back from the line, which make it seem to stretch beyond the
+narrow confines of a single thoroughfare.  In most French villages
+some of the houses are high and spacious, but here they seem almost
+all to be so.  And many of them have been constructed after that
+independent fashion which always gives to a house in a street a
+character and importance of its own.  They do not stand in a simple
+line, each supported by the strength of its neighbour, but occupy
+their own ground, facing this way or that as each may please,
+presenting here a corner to the main street, and there an end.
+There are little gardens, and big stables, and commodious barns; and
+periodical paint with annual whitewash is not wanting.  The
+unstinted slates shine copiously under the sun, and over almost
+every other door there is a large lettered board which indicates
+that the resident within is a dealer in the linen which is produced
+throughout the country.  All these things together give to Granpere
+an air of prosperity and comfort which is not at all checked by the
+fact that there is in the place no mansion which we Englishmen would
+call the gentleman's house, nothing approaching to the ascendancy of
+a parish squire, no baron's castle, no manorial hall,--not even a
+chateau to overshadow the modest roofs of the dealers in the linen
+of the Vosges.
+
+And the scenery round Granpere is very pleasant, though the
+neighbouring hills never rise to the magnificence of mountains or
+produce that grandeur which tourists desire when they travel in
+search of the beauties of Nature.  It is a spot to love if you know
+it well, rather than to visit with hopes raised high, and to leave
+with vivid impressions.  There is water in abundance; a pretty lake
+lying at the feet of sloping hills, rivulets running down from the
+high upper lands and turning many a modest wheel in their course, a
+waterfall or two here and there, and a so-called mountain summit
+within an easy distance, from whence the sun may be seen to rise
+among the Swiss mountains;--and distant perhaps three miles from the
+village the main river which runs down the valley makes for itself a
+wild ravine, just where the bridge on the new road to Munster
+crosses the water, and helps to excuse the people of Granpere for
+claiming for themselves a great object of natural attraction.  The
+bridge and the river and the ravine are very pretty, and perhaps
+justify all that the villagers say of them when they sing to
+travellers the praises of their country.
+
+Whether it be the sale of linen that has produced the large inn at
+Granpere, or the delicious air of the place, or the ravine and the
+bridge, matters little to our story; but the fact of the inn matters
+very much.  There it is,--a roomy, commodious building, not easily
+intelligible to a stranger, with its widely distributed parts,
+standing like an inverted V, with its open side towards the main
+road.  On the ground-floor on one side are the large stables and
+coach-house, with a billiard-room and cafe over them, and a long
+balcony which runs round the building; and on the other side there
+are kitchens and drinking-rooms, and over these the chamber for
+meals and the bedrooms.  All large, airy, and clean, though,
+perhaps, not excellently well finished in their construction, and
+furnished with but little pretence to French luxury.  And behind the
+inn there are gardens, by no means trim, and a dusty summer-house,
+which serves, however, for the smoking of a cigar; and there is
+generally space and plenty and goodwill.  Either the linen, or the
+air, or the ravine, or, as is more probable, the three combined,
+have produced a business, so that the landlord of the Lion d'Or at
+Granpere is a thriving man.
+
+The reader shall at once be introduced to the landlord, and informed
+at the same time that, in so far as he may be interested in this
+story, he will have to take up his abode at the Lion d'Or till it be
+concluded; not as a guest staying loosely at his inn, but as one who
+is concerned with all the innermost affairs of the household.  He
+will not simply eat his plate of soup, and drink his glass of wine,
+and pass on, knowing and caring more for the servant than for the
+servant's master, but he must content himself to sit at the
+landlord's table, to converse very frequently with the landlord's
+wife, to become very intimate with the landlord's son--whether on
+loving or on unloving terms shall be left entirely to himself--and
+to throw himself, with the sympathy of old friendship, into all the
+troubles and all the joys of the landlord's niece.  If the reader be
+one who cannot take such a journey, and pass a month or two without
+the society of persons whom he would define as ladies and gentlemen,
+he had better be warned at once, and move on, not setting foot
+within the Lion d'Or at Granpere.
+
+Michel Voss, the landlord, in person was at this time a tall, stout,
+active, and very handsome man, about fifty years of age.  As his son
+was already twenty-five--and was known to be so throughout the
+commune--people were sure that Michel Voss was fifty or thereabouts;
+but there was very little in his appearance to indicate so many
+years.  He was fat and burly to be sure; but then he was not fat to
+lethargy, or burly with any sign of slowness.  There was still the
+spring of youth in his footstep, and when there was some weight to
+be lifted, some heavy timber to be thrust here or there, some huge
+lumbering vehicle to be hoisted in or out, there was no arm about
+the place so strong as that of the master.  His short, dark, curly
+hair--that was always kept clipped round his head--was beginning to
+show a tinge of gray, but the huge moustache on his upper lip was
+still of a thorough brown, as was also the small morsel of beard
+which he wore upon his chin.  He had bright sharp brown eyes, a nose
+slightly beaked, and a large mouth.  He was on the whole a man of
+good temper, just withal, and one who loved those who belonged to
+him; but he chose to be master in his own house, and was apt to
+think that his superior years enabled him to know what younger
+people wanted better than they would know themselves.  He was loved
+in his house and respected in his village; but there was something
+in the beak of his nose and the brightness of his eye which was apt
+to make those around him afraid of him.  And indeed Michel Voss
+could lose his temper and become an angry man.
+
+Our landlord had been twice married.  By his first wife he had now
+living a single son, George Voss, who at the time of our tale had
+already reached his twenty-fifth year.  George, however, did not at
+this time live under his father's roof, having taken service for a
+time with the landlady of another inn at Colmar.  George Voss was
+known to be a clever young man; many in those parts declared that he
+was much more so than his father; and when he became clerk at the
+Poste in Colmar, and after a year or two had taken into his hands
+almost the entire management of that house--so that people began to
+say that old-fashioned and wretched as it was, money might still be
+made there--people began to say also that Michel Voss had been wrong
+to allow his son to leave Granpere.  But in truth there had been a
+few words between the father and the son; and the two were so like
+each other that the father found it difficult to rule, and the son
+found it difficult to be ruled.
+
+George Voss was very like his father, with this difference, as he
+was often told by the old folk about Granpere, that he would never
+fill his father's shoes.  He was a smaller man, less tall by a
+couple of inches, less broad in proportion across the shoulders,
+whose arm would never be so strong, whose leg would never grace a
+tight stocking with so full a development.  But he had the same eye,
+bright and brown and very quick, the same mouth, the same aquiline
+nose, the same broad forehead and well-shaped chin, and the same
+look in his face which made men know as by instinct that he would
+sooner command than obey.  So there had come to be a few words, and
+George Voss had gone away to the house of a cousin of his mother's,
+and had taken to commanding there.
+
+Not that there had been any quarrel between the father and the son;
+nor indeed that George was aware that he had been in the least
+disobedient to his parent.  There was no recognised ambition for
+rule in the breasts of either of them.  It was simply this, that
+their tempers were alike; and when on an occasion Michel told his
+son that he would not allow a certain piece of folly which the son
+was, as he thought, likely to commit, George declared that he would
+soon set that matter right by leaving Granpere.  Accordingly he did
+leave Granpere, and became the right hand, and indeed the head, and
+backbone, and best leg of his old cousin Madame Faragon of the Poste
+at Colmar.  Now the matter on which these few words occurred was a
+question of love--whether George Voss should fall in love with and
+marry his step-mother's niece Marie Bromar.  But before anything
+farther can be said of these few words, Madame Voss and her niece
+must be introduced to the reader.
+
+Madame Voss was nearly twenty years younger than her husband, and
+had now been a wife some five or six years.  She had been brought
+from Epinal, where she had lived with a married sister, a widow,
+much older than herself--in parting from whom on her marriage there
+had been much tribulation.  'Should anything happen to Marie,' she
+had said to Michel Voss, before she gave him her troth, 'you will
+let Minnie Bromar come to me?'  Michel Voss, who was then hotly in
+love with his hoped-for bride--hotly in love in spite of his four-
+and-forty years--gave the required promise.  The said 'something'
+which had been suspected had happened.  Madame Bromar had died, and
+Minnie Bromar her daughter--or Marie as she was always afterwards
+called--had at once been taken into the house at Granpere.  Michel
+never thought twice about it when he was reminded of his promise.
+'If I hadn't promised at all, she should come the same,' he said.
+'The house is big enough for a dozen more yet.'  In saying this he
+perhaps alluded to a little baby that then lay in a cradle in his
+wife's room, by means of which at that time Madame Voss was able to
+make her big husband do pretty nearly anything that she pleased.  So
+Marie Bromar, then just fifteen years of age, was brought over from
+Epinal to Granpere, and the house certainly was not felt to be too
+small because she was there.  Marie soon learned the ways and wishes
+of her burly, soft-hearted uncle; would fill his pipe for him, and
+hand him his soup, and bring his slippers, and put her soft arm
+round his neck, and became a favourite.  She was only a child when
+she came, and Michel thought it was very pleasant; but in five
+years' time she was a woman, and Michel was forced to reflect that
+it would not be well that there should be another marriage and
+another family in the house while he was so young himself,--there
+was at this time a third baby in the cradle,--and then Marie Bromar
+had not a franc of dot.  Marie was the sweetest eldest daughter in
+the world, but he could not think it right that his son should marry
+a wife before he had done a stroke for himself in the world.
+Prudence made it absolutely necessary that he should say a word to
+his son.
+
+Madame Voss was certainly nearly twenty years younger than her
+husband, and yet the pair did not look to be ill-sorted.  Michel was
+so handsome, strong, and hale; and Madame Voss, though she was a
+comely woman,--though when she was brought home a bride to Granpere
+the neighbours had all declared that she was very handsome,--carried
+with her a look of more years than she really possessed.  She had
+borne many of a woman's cares, and had known much of woman's sorrows
+before she had become wife to Michel Voss; and then when the babes
+came, and she had settled down as mistress of that large household,
+and taught herself to regard George Voss and Marie Bromar almost as
+her own children, all idea that she was much younger than her
+husband departed from her.  She was a woman who desired to excel her
+husband in nothing,--if only she might be considered to be in some
+things his equal.  There was no feeling in the village that Michel
+Voss had brought home a young wife and had made a fool of himself.
+He was a man entitled to have a wife much younger than himself.
+Madame Voss in those days always wore a white cap and a dark stuff
+gown, which was changed on Sundays for one of black silk, and brown
+mittens on her hands, and she went about the house in soft carpet
+shoes.  She was a conscientious, useful, but not an enterprising
+woman; loving her husband much and fearing him somewhat; liking to
+have her own way in certain small matters, but willing to be led in
+other things so long as those were surrendered to her; careful with
+her children, the care of whom seemed to deprive her of the power of
+caring for the business of the inn; kind to her niece, good-humoured
+in her house, and satisfied with the world at large as long as she
+might always be allowed to entertain M. le Cure at dinner on
+Sundays.  Michel Voss, Protestant though he was, had not the
+slightest objection to giving M. le Cure his Sunday dinner, on
+condition that M. le Cure on these occasions would confine his
+conversation to open subjects.  M. le Cure was quite willing to eat
+his dinner and give no offence.
+
+A word too must be said of Marie Bromar before we begin our story.
+Marie Bromar is the heroine of this little tale; and the reader must
+be made to have some idea of her as she would have appeared before
+him had he seen her standing near her uncle in the long room
+upstairs of the hotel at Granpere.  Marie had been fifteen when she
+was brought from Epinal to Granpere, and had then been a child; but
+she had now reached her twentieth birthday, and was a woman.  She
+was not above the middle height, and might seem to be less indeed in
+that house, because her aunt and her uncle were tall; but she was
+straight, well made, and very active.  She was strong and liked to
+use her strength, and was very keen about all the work of the house.
+During the five years of her residence at Granpere she had
+thoroughly learned the mysteries of her uncle's trade.  She knew
+good wine from bad by the perfume; she knew whether bread was the
+full weight by the touch; with a glance of her eye she could tell
+whether the cheese and butter were what they ought to be; in a
+matter of poultry no woman in all the commune could take her in; she
+was great in judging eggs; knew well the quality of linen; and was
+even able to calculate how long the hay should last, and what should
+be the consumption of corn in the stables.  Michel Voss was well
+aware before Marie had been a year beneath his roof that she well
+earned the morsel she ate and the drop she drank; and when she had
+been there five years he was ready to swear that she was the
+cleverest girl in Lorraine or Alsace.  And she was very pretty, with
+rich brown hair that would not allow itself to be brushed out of its
+crisp half-curls in front, and which she always wore cut short
+behind, curling round her straight, well-formed neck.  Her eyes were
+gray, with a strong shade indeed of green, but were very bright and
+pleasant, full of intelligence, telling stories by their glances of
+her whole inward disposition, of her activity, quickness, and desire
+to have a hand in everything that was being done.  Her father Jean
+Bromar had come from the same stock with Michel Voss, and she, too,
+had something of that aquiline nose which gave to the innkeeper and
+his son the look which made men dislike to contradict them.  Her
+mouth was large, but her teeth were very white and perfect, and her
+smile was the sweetest thing that ever was seen.  Marie Bromar was a
+pretty girl, and George Voss, had he lived so near to her and not
+have fallen in love with her, must have been cold indeed.
+
+At the end of these five years Marie had become a woman, and was
+known by all around her to be a woman much stronger, both in person
+and in purpose, than her aunt; but she maintained, almost
+unconsciously, many of the ways in the house which she had assumed
+when she first entered it.  Then she had always been on foot, to be
+everybody's messenger,--and so she was now.  When her uncle and aunt
+were at their meals she was always up and about,--attending them,
+attending the public guests, attending the whole house.  And it
+seemed as though she herself never sat down to eat or drink.
+Indeed, it was rare enough to find her seated at all.  She would
+have a cup of coffee standing up at the little desk near the public
+window when she kept her books, or would take a morsel of meat as
+she helped to remove the dishes.  She would stand sometimes for a
+minute leaning on the back of her uncle's chair as he sat at his
+supper, and would say, when he bade her to take her chair and eat
+with them, that she preferred picking and stealing.  In all things
+she worshipped her uncle, observing his movements, caring for his
+wants, and carrying out his plans.  She did not worship her aunt,
+but she so served Madame Voss that had she been withdrawn from the
+household Madame Voss would have found herself altogether unable to
+provide for its wants.  Thus Marie Bromar had become the guardian
+angel of the Lion d'Or at Granpere.
+
+There must be a word or two more said of the difference between
+George Voss and his father which had ended in sending George to
+Colmar; a word or two about that, and a word also of what occurred
+between George and Marie.  Then we shall be able to commence our
+story without farther reference to things past.  As Michel Voss was
+a just, affectionate, and intelligent man, he would not probably
+have objected to a marriage between the two young people, had the
+proposition for such a marriage been first submitted to him, with a
+proper amount of attention to his judgment and controlling power.
+But the idea was introduced to him in a manner which taught him to
+think that there was to be a clandestine love affair.  To him George
+was still a boy, and Marie not much more than a child, and--without
+much thinking--he felt that the thing was improper.
+
+'I won't have it, George,' he had said.
+
+'Won't have what, father?'
+
+'Never mind.  You know.  If you can't get over it in any other way,
+you had better go away.  You must do something for yourself before
+you can think of marrying.'
+
+'I am not thinking of marrying.'
+
+'Then what were you thinking of when I saw you with Marie?  I won't
+have it for her sake, and I won't have it for mine, and I won't have
+it for your own.  You had better go away for a while.'
+
+'I'll go away to-morrow if you wish it, father.'  Michel had turned
+away, not saying another word; and on the following day George did
+go away, hardly waiting an hour to set in order his part of his
+father's business.  For it must be known that George had not been an
+idler in his father's establishment.  There was a trade of wood-
+cutting upon the mountain-side, with a saw-mill turned by water
+beneath, over which George had presided almost since he had left the
+school of the commune.  When his father told him that he was bound
+to do something before he got married, he could not have intended to
+accuse him of having been hitherto idle.  Of the wood-cutting and
+the saw-mill George knew as much as Marie did of the poultry and the
+linen.  Michel was wrong, probably, in his attempt to separate them.
+The house was large enough, or if not, there was still room for
+another house to be built in Granpere.  They would have done well as
+man and wife.  But then the head of a household naturally objects to
+seeing the boys and girls belonging to him making love under his
+nose without any reference to his opinion.  'Things were not made so
+easy for me,' he says to himself, and feels it to be a sort of duty
+to take care that the course of love shall not run altogether
+smooth.  George, no doubt, was too abrupt with his father; or
+perhaps it might be the case that he was not sorry to take an
+opportunity of leaving for a while Granpere and Marie Bromar.  It
+might be well to see the world; and though Marie Bromar was bright
+and pretty, it might be that there were others abroad brighter and
+prettier.
+
+His father had spoken to him on one fine September afternoon, and
+within an hour George was with the men who were stripping bark from
+the great pine logs up on the side of the mountain.  With them, and
+with two or three others who were engaged at the saw-mills, he
+remained till the night was dark.  Then he came down and told
+something of his intentions to his stepmother.  He was going to
+Colmar on the morrow with a horse and small cart, and would take
+with him what clothes he had ready.  He did not speak to Marie that
+night, but he said something to his father about the timber and the
+mill.  Gaspar Muntz, the head woodsman, knew, he said, all about the
+business.  Gaspar could carry on the work till it would suit Michel
+Voss himself to see how things were going on.  Michel Voss was sore
+and angry, but he said nothing.  He sent to his son a couple of
+hundred francs by his wife, but said no word of explanation even to
+her.  On the following morning George was off without seeing his
+father.
+
+But Marie was up to give him his breakfast.  'What is the meaning of
+this, George?' she said.
+
+'Father says that I shall be better away from this,--so I'm going
+away.'
+
+'And why will you be better away?'  To this George made no answer.
+'It will be terrible if you quarrel with your father.  Nothing can
+be so bad as that.'
+
+'We have not quarrelled.  That is to say, I have not quarrelled with
+him.  If he quarrels with me, I cannot help it.'
+
+'It must be helped,' said Marie, as she placed before him a mess of
+eggs which she had cooked for him with her own hands.  'I would
+sooner die than see anything wrong between you two.'  Then there was
+a pause.  'Is it about me, George?' she asked boldly.
+
+'Father thinks that I love you: --so I do.'
+
+Marie paused for a few minutes before she said anything farther.
+She was standing very near to George, who was eating his breakfast
+heartily in spite of the interesting nature of the conversation.  As
+she filled his cup a second time, she spoke again.  'I will never do
+anything, George, if I can help it, to displease my uncle.'
+
+'But why should it displease him?  He wants to have his own way in
+everything.'
+
+'Of course he does.'
+
+'He has told me to go;--and I'll go.  I've worked for him as no
+other man would work, and have never said a word about a share in
+the business;--and never would.'
+
+'Is it not all for yourself, George?'
+
+'And why shouldn't you and I be married if we like it?'
+
+'I will never like it,' said she solemnly, 'if uncle dislikes it.'
+
+'Very well,' said George.  'There is the horse ready, and now I'm
+off.'
+
+So he went, starting just as the day was dawning, and no one saw him
+on that morning except Marie Bromar.  As soon as he was gone she
+went up to her little room, and sat herself down on her bedside.
+She knew that she loved him, and had been told that she was beloved.
+She knew that she could not lose him without suffering terribly; but
+now she almost feared that it would be necessary that she should
+lose him.  His manner had not been tender to her.  He had indeed
+said that he loved her, but there had been nothing of the tenderness
+of love in his mode of saying so;--and then he had said no word of
+persistency in the teeth of his father's objection.  She had
+declared--thoroughly purposing that her declaration should be true--
+that she would never become his wife in opposition to her uncle's
+wishes; but he, had he been in earnest, might have said something of
+his readiness to attempt at least to overcome his father's
+objection.  But he had said not a word, and Marie, as she sat upon
+her bed, made up her mind that it must be all over.  But she made up
+her mind also that she would entertain no feeling of anger against
+her uncle.  She owed him everything, so she thought--making no
+account, as George had done, of labour given in return.  She was
+only a girl, and what was her labour?  For a while she resolved that
+she would give a spoken assurance to her uncle that he need fear
+nothing from her.  It was natural enough to her that her uncle
+should desire a better marriage for his son.  But after a while she
+reflected that any speech from her on such a subject would be
+difficult, and that it would be better that she should hold her
+tongue.  So she held her tongue, and thought of George, and
+suffered;--but still was merry, at least in manner, when her uncle
+spoke to her, and priced the poultry, and counted the linen, and
+made out the visitors' bills, as though nothing evil had come upon
+her.  She was a gallant girl, and Michel Voss, though he could not
+speak of it, understood her gallantry and made notes of it on the
+note-book of his heart.
+
+In the mean time George Voss was thriving at Colmar,--as the Vosses
+did thrive wherever they settled themselves.  But he sent no word to
+his father,--nor did his father send word to him,--though they were
+not more than ten leagues apart.  Once Madame Voss went over to see
+him, and brought back word of his well-doing.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II.
+
+Exactly at eight o'clock every evening a loud bell was sounded in
+the hotel of the Lion d'Or at Granpere, and all within the house sat
+down together to supper.  The supper was spread on a long table in
+the saloon up-stairs, and the room was lighted with camphine lamps,-
+-for as yet gas had not found its way to Granpere.  At this meal
+assembled not only the guests in the house and the members of the
+family of the landlord,--but also many persons living in the village
+whom it suited to take, at a certain price per month, the chief meal
+of the day, at the house of the innkeeper, instead of eating in
+their own houses a more costly, a less dainty, and probably a lonely
+supper.  Therefore when the bell was heard there came together some
+dozen residents of Granpere, mostly young men engaged in the linen
+trade, from their different lodgings, and each took his accustomed
+seat down the sides of the long board, at which, tied in a knot, was
+placed his own napkin.  At the top of the table was the place of
+Madame Voss, which she never failed to fill exactly three minutes
+after the bell had been rung.  At her right hand was the chair of
+the master of the house,--never occupied by any one else;--but it
+would often happen that some business would keep him away.  Since
+George had left him he had taken the timber into his own hands, and
+was accustomed to think and sometimes to say that the necessity was
+cruel on him.  Below his chair and on the other side of Madame Voss
+there would generally be two or three places kept for guests who
+might be specially looked upon as the intimate friends of the
+mistress of the house; and at the farther end of the table, close to
+the window, was the space allotted to travellers.  Here the napkins
+were not tied in knots, but were always clean.  And, though the
+little plates of radishes, cakes, and dried fruits were continued
+from one of the tables to the other, the long-necked thin bottles of
+common wine came to an end before they reached the strangers'
+portion of the board; for it had been found that strangers would
+take at that hour either tea or a better kind of wine than that
+which Michel Voss gave to his accustomed guests without any special
+charge.  When, however, the stranger should please to take the
+common wine, he was by no means thereby prejudiced in the eyes of
+Madame Voss or her husband.  Michel Voss liked a profit, but he
+liked the habits of his country almost as well.
+
+One evening in September, about twelve months after the departure of
+George, Madame Voss took her seat at the table, and the young men of
+the place who had been waiting round the door of the hotel for a few
+minutes, followed her into the room.  And there was M. Goudin, the
+Cure, with another young clergyman, his friend.  On Sundays the Cure
+always dined at the hotel at half-past twelve o'clock, as the friend
+of the family; but for his supper he paid, as did the other guests.
+I rather fancy that on week days he had no particular dinner; and
+indeed there was no such formal meal given in the house of Michel
+Voss on week days.  There was something put on the table about noon
+in the little room between the kitchen and the public window; but
+except on Sundays it could hardly be called a dinner.  On Sundays a
+real dinner was served in the room up-stairs, with soup, and
+removes, and entrees and the roti, all in the right place,--which
+showed that they knew what a dinner was at the Lion d'Or;--but,
+throughout the week, supper was the meal of the day.  After M.
+Goudin, on this occasion, there came two maiden ladies from Epinal
+who were lodging at Granpere for change of air.  They seated
+themselves near to Madame Voss, but still leaving a place or two
+vacant.  And presently at the bottom of the table there came an
+Englishman and his wife, who were travelling through the country;
+and so the table was made up.  A lad of about fifteen, who was known
+in Granpere as the waiter at the Lion d'Or, looked after the two
+strangers and the young men, and Marie Bromar, who herself had
+arranged the board, stood at the top of the room, by a second table,
+and dispensed the soup.  It was pleasant to watch her eyes, as she
+marked the moment when the dispensing should begin, and counted her
+guests, thoughtful as to the sufficiency of the dishes to come; and
+noticed that Edmond Greisse had sat down with such dirty hands that
+she must bid her uncle to warn the lad; and observed that the more
+elderly of the two ladies from Epinal had bread too hard to suit
+her,--which should be changed as soon as the soup had been
+dispensed.  She looked round, and even while dispensing saw
+everything.  It was suggested in the last chapter that another house
+might have been built in Granpere, and that George Voss might have
+gone there, taking Marie as his bride; but the Lion d'Or would
+sorely have missed those quick and careful eyes.
+
+Then, when that dispensing of the soup was concluded, Michel entered
+the room bringing with him a young man.  The young man had evidently
+been expected; for, when he took the place close at the left hand of
+Madame Voss, she simply bowed to him, saying some word of courtesy
+as Michel took his place on the other side.  Then Marie dispensed
+two more portions of soup, and leaving one on the farther table for
+the boy to serve, though she could well have brought the two, waited
+herself upon her uncle.  'And is Urmand to have no soup?' said
+Michel Voss, as he took his niece lovingly by the hand.
+
+'Peter is bringing it,' said Marie.  And in a moment or two Peter
+the waiter did bring the young man his soup.
+
+'And will not Mademoiselle Marie sit down with us?' said the young
+man.
+
+'If you can make her, you have more influence than I,' said Michel.
+'Marie never sits, and never eats, and never drinks.'  She was
+standing now close behind her uncle with both her hands upon his
+head; and she would often stand so after the supper was commenced,
+only moving to attend upon him, or to supplement the services of
+Peter and the maid-servant when she perceived that they were
+becoming for a time inadequate to their duties.  She answered her
+uncle now by gently pulling his ears, but she said nothing.
+
+'Sit down with us, Marie, to oblige me,' said Madame Voss.
+
+'I had rather not, aunt.  It is foolish to sit at supper and not
+eat.  I have taken my supper already.'  Then she moved away, and
+hovered round the two strangers at the end of the room.  After
+supper Michel Voss and the young man--Adrian Urmand by name--lit
+their cigars and seated themselves on a bench outside the front
+door.  'Have you never said a word to her?' said Michel.
+
+'Well;--a word; yes.'
+
+'But you have not asked her--; you know what I mean;--asked her
+whether she could love you.'
+
+'Well,--yes.  I have said as much as that, but I have never got an
+answer.  And when I did ask her, she merely left me.  She is not
+much given to talking.'
+
+'She will not make the worse wife, my friend, because she is not
+much given to such talking as that.  When she is out with me on a
+Sunday afternoon she has chat enough.  By St. James, she'll talk for
+two hours without stopping when I'm so out of breath with the hill
+that I haven't a word.'
+
+'I don't doubt she can talk.'
+
+'That she can; and manage a house better than any girl I ever saw.
+You ask her aunt.'
+
+'I know what her aunt thinks of her.  Madame Voss says that neither
+you nor she can afford to part with her.'
+
+Michel Voss was silent for a moment.  It was dusk, and no one could
+see him as he brushed a tear from each eye with the back of his
+hand.  'I'll tell you what, Urmand,--it will break my heart to lose
+her.  Do you see how she comes to me and comforts me?  But if it
+broke my heart, and broke the house too, I would not keep her here.
+It isn't fit.  If you like her, and she can like you, it will be a
+good match for her.  You have my leave to ask her.  She brought
+nothing here, but she has been a good girl, a very good girl, and
+she will not leave the house empty-handed.'
+
+Adrian Urmand was a linen-buyer from Basle, and was known to have a
+good share in a good business.  He was a handsome young man too,
+though rather small, and perhaps a little too apt to wear rings on
+his fingers and to show jewelry on his shirt-front and about his
+waistcoat.  So at least said some of the young people of Granpere,
+where rings and gold studs are not so common as they are at Basle.
+But he was one who understood his business, and did not neglect it;
+he had money too; and was therefore such a young man that Michel
+Voss felt that he might give his niece to him without danger, if he
+and she could manage to like each other sufficiently.  As to
+Urmand's liking, there was no doubt.  Urmand was ready enough.
+
+'I will see if she will speak to me just now,' said Urmand after a
+pause.
+
+'Shall her aunt try it, or shall I do it?' said Michel.
+
+But Adrian Urmand thought that part of the pleasure of love lay in
+the making of it himself.  So he declined the innkeeper's offer, at
+any rate for the present occasion.  'Perhaps,' said he, 'Madame Voss
+will say a word for me after I have spoken for myself.'
+
+'So let it be,' said the landlord.  And then they finished their
+cigars in silence.
+
+It was in vain that Adrian Urmand tried that night to obtain
+audience from Marie.  Marie, as though she well knew what was wanted
+of her and was determined to thwart her lover, would not allow
+herself to be found alone for a moment.  When Adrian presented
+himself at the window of her little bar, he found that Peter was
+with her, and she managed to keep Peter with her till Adrian was
+gone.  And again, when he hoped to find her alone for a few moments
+after the work of the day was over in the small parlour where she
+was accustomed to sit for some half hour before she would go up to
+her room, he was again disappointed.  She was already up-stairs with
+her aunt and the children, and all Michel Voss's good nature in
+keeping out of the way was of no avail.
+
+But Urmand was determined not to be beaten.  He intended to return
+to Basle on the next day but one, and desired to put this matter a
+little in forwardness before he took his departure.  On the
+following morning he had various appointments to keep with
+countrymen and their wives, who sold linen to him, but he was quick
+over his business and managed to get back to the inn early in the
+afternoon.  From six till eight he well knew that Marie would allow
+nothing to impede her in the grand work of preparing for supper; but
+at four o'clock she would certainly be sitting somewhere about the
+house with her needle in her hand.  At four o'clock he found her,
+not with her needle in her hand, but, better still, perfectly idle.
+She was standing at an open window, looking out upon the garden as
+he came behind her, standing motionless with both hands on the sill
+of the window, thinking deeply of something that filled her mind.
+It might be that she was thinking of him.
+
+'I have done with my customers now, and I shall be off to Basle to-
+morrow,' said he, as soon as she had looked round at the sound of
+his footsteps and perceived that he was close to her.
+
+'I hope you have bought your goods well, M. Urmand.'
+
+'Ah! for the matter of that the time for buying things well is clean
+gone.  One used to be able to buy well; but there is not an old
+woman now in Alsace who doesn't know as well as I do, or better,
+what linen is worth in Berne and Paris.  They expect to get nearly
+as much for it here at Granpere.'
+
+'They work hard, M. Urmand, and things are dearer than they were.
+It is well that they should get a price for their labour.'
+
+'A price, yes: --but how is a man to buy without a profit?  They
+think that I come here for their sakes,--merely to bring the market
+to their doors.'  Then he began to remember that he had no special
+object in discussing the circumstances of his trade with Marie
+Bromar, and that he had a special object in another direction.  But
+how to turn the subject was now a difficulty.
+
+'I am sure you do not buy without a profit,' said Marie Bromar, when
+she found that he was silent.  'And then the poor people, who have
+to pay so dear for everything!'  She was making a violent attempt to
+keep him on the ground of his customers and his purchases.
+
+'There was another thing that I wanted to say to you, Marie,' he
+began at last abruptly.
+
+'Another thing,' said Marie, knowing that the hour had come.
+
+'Yes;--another thing.  I daresay you know what it is.  I need not
+tell you now that I love you, need I, Marie?  You know as well as I
+do what I think of you.'
+
+'No, I don't,' said Marie, not intending to encourage him to tell
+her, but simply saying that which came easiest to her at the moment.
+
+'I think this,--that if you will consent to be my wife, I shall be a
+very happy man.  That is all.  Everybody knows how pretty you are,
+and how good, and how clever; but I do not think that anybody loves
+you better than I do.  Can you say that you will love me, Marie?
+Your uncle approves of it,--and your aunt.'  He had now come quite
+close to her, and having placed his hand behind her back, was
+winding his arm round her waist.
+
+'I will not have you do that, M. Urmand,' she said, escaping from
+his embrace.
+
+'But that is no answer.  Can you love me, Marie?'
+
+'No,' she said, hardly whispering the word between her teeth.
+
+'And is that to be all?'
+
+'What more can I say?'
+
+'But your uncle wishes it, and your aunt.  Dear Marie, can you not
+try to love me?'
+
+'I know they wish it.  It is easy enough for a girl to see when such
+things are wished or when they are forbidden.  Of course I know that
+uncle wishes it.  And he is very good;--and so are you, I daresay.
+And I'm sure I ought to be very proud, because you are so much above
+me.'
+
+'I am not a bit above you.  If you knew what I think, you wouldn't
+say so.'
+
+'But--'
+
+'Well, Marie.  Think a moment, dearest, before you give me an answer
+that shall make me either happy or miserable.'
+
+'I have thought.  I would almost burn myself in the fire, if uncle
+wished it.'
+
+'And he does wish this.'
+
+'But I cannot do this even because he wishes it.'
+
+'Why not, Marie?'
+
+'I prefer being as I am.  I do not wish to leave the hotel, or to be
+married at all.'
+
+'Nay, Marie, you will certainly be married some day.'
+
+'No; there is no such certainty.  Some girls never get married.  I
+am of use here, and I am happy here.'
+
+'Ah! it is because you cannot love me.'
+
+'I don't suppose I shall ever love any one, not in that way.  I must
+go away now, M. Urmand, because I am wanted below.'
+
+She did go, and Adrian Urmand spoke no farther word of love to her
+on that occasion.
+
+'I will speak to her about it myself,' said Michel Voss, when he
+heard his young friend's story that evening, seated again upon the
+bench outside the door, and smoking another cigar.
+
+'It will be of no use,' said Adrian.
+
+'One never knows,' said Michel.  'Young women are queer cattle to
+take to market.  One can never be quite certain which way they want
+to go.  After you are off to-morrow, I will have a few words with
+her.  She does not quite understand as yet that she must make her
+hay while the sun shines.  Some of 'em are all in a hurry to get
+married, and some of 'em again are all for hanging back, when their
+friends wish it.  It's natural, I believe, that they should be
+contrary.  But Marie is as good as the best of them, and when I
+speak to her, she'll hear reason.'
+
+Adrian Urmand had no alternative but to assent to the innkeeper's
+proposition.  The idea of making love second-hand was not pleasant
+to him; but he could not hinder the uncle from speaking his mind to
+the niece.  One little suggestion he did make before he took his
+departure.  'It can't be, I suppose, that there is any one else that
+she likes better?'  To this Michel Voss made no answer in words, but
+shook his head in a fashion that made Adrian feel assured that there
+was no danger on that head.
+
+But Michel Voss, though he had shaken his head in a manner so
+satisfactory, had feared that there was such danger.  He had
+considered himself justified in shaking his head, but would not be
+so false as to give in words the assurance which Adrian had asked.
+That night he discussed the matter with his wife, declaring it as
+his purpose that Marie Bromar should marry Adrian Urmand.  'It is
+impossible that she should do better,' said Michel.
+
+'It would be very well,' said Madame Voss.
+
+'Very well!  Why, he is worth thirty thousand francs, and is as
+steady at his business as his father was before him.'
+
+'He is a dandy.'
+
+'Psha! that is nothing!' said Michel.
+
+'And he is too fond of money.'
+
+'It is a fault on the right side,' said Michel.  'His wife and
+children will not come to want.'
+
+Madame Voss paused a moment before she made her last and grand
+objection to the match.  'It is my belief,' said she, 'that Marie is
+always thinking of George.'
+
+'Then she had better cease to think of him,' said Michel; 'for
+George is not thinking of her.'  He said nothing farther, but
+resolved to speak his own mind freely to Marie Bromar.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III.
+
+The old-fashioned inn at Colmar, at which George Voss was acting as
+assistant and chief manager to his father's distant cousin, Madame
+Faragon, was a house very different in all its belongings from the
+Lion d'Or at Granpere.  It was very much larger, and had much higher
+pretensions.  It assumed to itself the character of a first-class
+hotel; and when Colmar was without a railway, and was a great
+posting-station on the high road from Strasbourg to Lyons, there was
+some real business at the Hotel de la Poste in that town.  At
+present, though Colmar may probably have been benefited by the
+railway, the inn has faded, and is in its yellow leaf.  Travellers
+who desire to see the statue which a grateful city has erected to
+the memory of its most illustrious citizen, General Rapp, are not
+sufficient in number to keep a first-class hotel in the glories of
+fresh paint and smart waiters; and when you have done with General
+Rapp, there is not much to interest you in Colmar.  But there is the
+hotel; and poor fat, unwieldy Madame Faragon, though she grumbles
+much, and declares that there is not a sou to be made, still keeps
+it up, and bears with as much bravery as she can the buffets of a
+world which seems to her to be becoming less prosperous and less
+comfortable and more exacting every day.  In her younger years, a
+posting-house in such a town was a posting-house; and when M.
+Faragon married her, the heiress of the then owner of the business,
+he was supposed to have done uncommonly well for himself.  Madame
+Faragon is now a childless widow, and sometimes declares that she
+will shut the house up and have done with it.  Why maintain a
+business without a profit, simply that there may be an Hotel de la
+Poste at Colmar?  But there are old servants whom she has not the
+heart to send away; and she has at any rate a roof of her own over
+her head; and though she herself is unconscious that it is so, she
+has many ties to the old business; and now, since her young cousin
+George Voss has been with her, things go a little better.  She is
+not robbed so much, and the people of the town, finding that they
+can get a fair bottle of wine and a good supper, come to the inn;
+and at length an omnibus has been established, and there is a little
+glimmer of returning prosperity.
+
+It is a large old rambling house, built round an irregularly-shaped
+court, with another court behind it; and in both courts the stables
+and coach-houses seem to be so mixed with the kitchens and
+entrances, that one hardly knows what part of the building is equine
+and what part human.  Judging from the smell which pervades the
+lower quarters, and, alas, also too frequently the upper rooms, one
+would be inclined to say that the horses had the best of it.  The
+defect had been pointed out to Madame Faragon more than once; but
+that lady, though in most of the affairs of life her temper is
+gentle and kindly, cannot hear with equanimity an insinuation that
+any portion of her house is either dirty or unsweet.  Complaints
+have reached her that the beds were--well, inhabited--but no servant
+now dares to hint at anything wrong in this particular.  If this
+traveller or that says a word to her personally in complaint, she
+looks as sour as death, and declines to open her mouth in reply; but
+when that traveller's back is turned, the things that Madame Faragon
+can say about the upstart coxcombry of the wretch, and as to the
+want of all real comforts which she is sure prevails in the home
+quarters of that ill-starred complaining traveller, are proof to
+those who hear them that the old landlady has not as yet lost all
+her energy.  It need not be doubted that she herself religiously
+believes that no foul perfume has ever pervaded the sanctity of her
+chambers, and that no living thing has ever been seen inside the
+sheets of her beds, except those guests whom she has allocated to
+the different rooms.
+
+Matters had not gone very easily with George Voss in all the changes
+he had made during the last year.  Some things he was obliged to do
+without consulting Madame Faragon at all.  Then she would discover
+what was going on, and there would be a 'few words.'  At other times
+he would consult her, and carry his purpose only after much
+perseverance.  Twice or thrice he had told her that he must go away,
+and then with many groans she had acceded to his propositions.  It
+had been necessary to expend two thousand francs in establishing the
+omnibus, and in that affair the appearance of things had been at one
+time quite hopeless.  And then when George had declared that the
+altered habits of the people required that the hour of the morning
+table-d'hote should be changed from noon to one, she had sworn that
+she would not give way.  She would never lend her assent to such
+vile idleness.  It was already robbing the business portion of the
+day of an hour.  She would wrap her colours round her and die upon
+the ground sooner than yield.  'Then they won't come,' said George,
+'and it's no use you having the table then.  They will all go to the
+Hotel de l'Imperatrice.'  This was a new house, the very mention of
+which was a dagger-thrust into the bosom of Madame Faragon.  'Then
+they will be poisoned,' she said.  'And let them!  It is what they
+are fit for.'  But the change was made, and for the first three days
+she would not come out of her room.  When the bell was rung at the
+obnoxious hour, she stopped her ears with her two hands.
+
+But though there had been these contests, Madame Faragon had made
+more than one effort to induce George Voss to become her partner and
+successor in the house.  If he would only bring in a small sum of
+money--a sum which must be easily within his father's reach--he
+should have half the business now, and all of it when Madame Faragon
+had gone to her rest.  Or if he would prefer to give Madame Faragon
+a pension--a moderate pension--she would give up the house at once.
+At these tender moments she used to say that he probably would not
+begrudge her a room in which to die.  But George Voss would always
+say that he had no money, that he could not ask his father for
+money, and that he had not made up his mind to settle at Colmar.
+Madame Faragon, who was naturally much interested in the matter, and
+was moreover not without curiosity, could never quite learn how
+matters stood at Granpere.  A word or two she had heard in a
+circuitous way of Marie Bromar, but from George himself she could
+never learn anything of his affairs at home.  She had asked him once
+or twice whether it would not be well that he should marry, but he
+had always replied that he did not think of such a thing--at any
+rate as yet.  He was a steady young man, given more to work than to
+play, and apparently not inclined to amuse himself with the girls of
+the neighbourhood.
+
+One day Edmond Greisse was over at Colmar--Edmond Greisse, the lad
+whose untidy appearance at the supper-table at the Lion d'Or had
+called down the rebuke of Marie Bromar.  He had been sent over on
+some business by his employer, and had come to get his supper and
+bed at Madame Faragon's hotel.  He was a modest, unassuming lad, and
+had been hardly more than a boy when George Voss had left Granpere.
+From time to time George had seen some friend from the village, and
+had thus heard tidings from home.  Once, as has been said, Madame
+Voss had made a pilgrimage to Madame Faragon's establishment to
+visit him; but letters between the houses had not been frequent.
+Though postage in France--or shall we say Germany?--is now almost as
+low as in England, these people of Alsace have not yet fallen into
+the way of writing to each other when it occurs to any of them that
+a word may be said.  Young Greisse had seen the landlady, who now
+never went upstairs among her guests, and had had his chamber
+allotted to him, and was seated at the supper-table, before he met
+George Voss.  It was from Madame Faragon that George heard of his
+arrival.
+
+'There is a neighbour of yours from Granpere in the house,' said
+she.
+
+'From Granpere?  And who is he?'
+
+'I forget the lad's name; but he says that your father is well, and
+Madame Voss.  He goes back early to-morrow with the roulage and some
+goods that his people have bought.  I think he is at supper now.'
+
+The place of honour at the top of the table at the Colmar inn was
+not in these days assumed by Madame Faragon.  She had, alas, become
+too stout to do so with either grace or comfort, and always took her
+meals, as she always lived, in the little room downstairs, from
+which she could see, through the apertures of two doors, all who
+came in and all who went out by the chief entrance of the hotel.
+Nor had George usurped the place.  It had now happened at Colmar, as
+it has come to pass at most hotels, that the public table is no
+longer the table-d'hote.  The end chair was occupied by a stout,
+dark man, with a bald head and black beard, who was proudly filling
+a place different from that of his neighbours, and who would
+probably have gone over to the Hotel de l'Imperatrice had anybody
+disturbed him.  On the present occasion George seated himself next
+to the lad, and they were soon discussing all the news from
+Granpere.
+
+'And how is Marie Bromar?' George asked at last.
+
+'You have heard about her, of course,' said Edmond Greisse.
+
+'Heard what?'
+
+'She is going to be married.'
+
+'Minnie Bromar to be married?  And to whom?'
+
+Edmond at once understood that his news was regarded as being
+important, and made the most of it.
+
+'O dear, yes.  It was settled last week when he was there.'
+
+'But who is he?'
+
+'Adrian Urmand, the linen-buyer from Basle.'
+
+'Marie to be married to Adrian Urmand?'
+
+Urmand's journeys to Granpere had been commenced before George Voss
+had left the place, and therefore the two young men had known each
+other.
+
+'They say he's very rich,' said Edmond.
+
+'I thought he cared for nobody but himself.  And are you sure?  Who
+told you?'
+
+'I am quite sure; but I do not know who told me.  They are all
+talking about it.'
+
+'Did my father ever tell you?'
+
+'No, he never told me.'
+
+'Or Marie herself?'
+
+'No, she did not tell me.  Girls never tell those sort of things of
+themselves.'
+
+'Nor Madame Voss?' asked George.
+
+'She never talks much about anything.  But you may be sure it's
+true.  I'll tell you who told me first, and he is sure to know,
+because he lives in the house.  It was Peter Veque.'
+
+'Peter Veque, indeed!  And who do you think would tell him?'
+
+'But isn't it quite likely?  She has grown to be such a beauty!
+Everybody gives it to her that she is the prettiest girl round
+Granpere.  And why shouldn't he marry her?  If I had a lot of money,
+I'd only look to get the prettiest girl I could find anywhere.'
+
+After this, George said nothing farther to the young man as to the
+marriage.  If it was talked about as Edmond said, it was probably
+true.  And why should it not be true?  Even though it were true, no
+one would have cared to tell him.  She might have been married twice
+over, and no one in Granpere would have sent him word.  So he
+declared to himself.  And yet Marie Bromar had once sworn to him
+that she loved him, and would be his for ever and ever; and, though
+he had left her in dudgeon, with black looks, without a kind word of
+farewell, yet he had believed her.  Through all his sojourn at
+Colmar he had told himself that she would be true to him.  He
+believed it, though he was hardly sure of himself--had hardly
+resolved that he would ever go back to Granpere to seek her.  His
+father had turned him out of the house, and Marie had told him as he
+went that she would never marry him if her uncle disapproved it.
+Slight as her word had been on that morning of his departure, it had
+rankled in his bosom, and made him angry with her through a whole
+twelvemonth.  And yet he had believed that she would be true to him!
+
+He went out in the evening when it was dusk and walked round and
+round the public garden of Colmar, thinking of the news which he had
+heard--the public garden, in which stands the statue of General
+Rapp.  It was a terrible blow to him.  Though he had remained a
+whole year in Colmar without seeing Marie, or hearing of her,
+without hardly ever having had her name upon his lips, without even
+having once assured himself during the whole time that the happiness
+of his life would depend on the girl's constancy to him,--now that
+he heard that she was to be married to another man, he was torn to
+pieces by anger and regret.  He had sworn to love her, and had never
+even spoken a word of tenderness to another girl.  She had given him
+her plighted troth, and now she was prepared to break it with the
+first man who asked her!  As he thought of this, his brow became
+black with anger.  But his regrets were as violent.  What a fool he
+had been to leave her there, open to persuasion from any man who
+came in the way, open to persuasion from his father, who would, of
+course, be his enemy.  How, indeed, could he expect that she should
+be true to him?  The year had been long enough to him, but it must
+have been doubly long to her.  He had expected that his father would
+send for him, would write to him, would at least transmit to him
+some word that would make him know that his presence was again
+desired at Granpere.  But his father had been as proud as he was,
+and had not sent any such message.  Or rather, perhaps, the father
+being older and less impatient, had thought that a temporary absence
+from Granpere might be good for his son.
+
+It was late at night when George Voss went to bed, but he was up in
+the morning early to see Edmond Greisse before the roulage should
+start for Munster on its road to Granpere.  Early times in that part
+of the world are very early, and the roulage was ready in the back
+court of the inn at half-past four in the morning.
+
+'What? you up at this hour?' said Edmond.
+
+'Why not?  It is not every day we have a friend here from Granpere,
+so I thought I would see you off.'
+
+'That is kind of you.'
+
+'Give my love to them at the old house, Edmond.'
+
+'Of course I will.'
+
+'To father, and Madame Voss, and the children, and to Marie.'
+
+'All right.'
+
+'Tell Marie that you have told me of her marriage.'
+
+'I don't know whether she'll like to talk about that to me.'
+
+'Never mind; you tell her.  She won't bite you.  Tell her also that
+I shall be over at Granpere soon to see her and the rest of them.
+I'll be over--as soon as ever I can get away.'
+
+'Shall I tell your father that?'
+
+'No.  Tell Marie, and let her tell my father.'
+
+'And when will you come?  We shall all be so glad to see you.'
+
+'Never you mind that.  You just give my message.  Come in for a
+moment to the kitchen.  There's a cup of coffee for you and a slice
+of ham.  We are not going to let an old friend like you go away
+without breaking his fast.'
+
+As Greisse had already paid his modest bill, amounting altogether to
+little more than three francs, this was kind of the young landlord,
+and while he was eating his bread and ham he promised faithfully
+that he would give the message just as George had given it to him.
+
+It was on the third day after the departure of Edmond Greisse that
+George told Madame Faragon that he was going home.
+
+'Going where, George?' said Madame Faragon, leaning forward on the
+table before her, and looking like a picture of despair.
+
+'To Granpere, Madame Faragon.'
+
+'To Granpere! and why? and when? and how?  O dear!  Why did you not
+tell me before, child?'
+
+'I told you as soon as I knew.'
+
+'But you are not going yet?'
+
+'On Monday.'
+
+'O dear!  So soon as that!  Lord bless me!  We can't do anything
+before Monday.  And when will you be back?'
+
+'I cannot say with certainty.  I shall not be long, I daresay.'
+
+'And have they sent for you?'
+
+'No, they have not sent for me, but I want to see them once again.
+And I must make up my mind what to do for the future.'
+
+'Don't leave me, George; pray do not leave me!' exclaimed Madame
+Faragon.  'You shall have the business now if you choose to take it-
+-only pray don't leave me!'
+
+George explained that at any rate he would not desert her now at
+once; and on the Monday named he started for Granpere.  He had not
+been very quick in his action, for a week had passed since he had
+given Edmond Greisse his breakfast in the hotel kitchen.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV.
+
+Adrian Urmand had been three days gone from Granpere before Michel
+Voss found a fitting opportunity for talking to his niece.  It was
+not a matter, as he thought, in which there was need for any great
+hurry, but there was need for much consideration.  Once again he
+spoke on the subject to his wife.
+
+'If she's thinking about George, she has kept it very much to
+herself,' he remarked.
+
+'Girls do keep it to themselves,' said Madame Voss.
+
+'I'm not so sure of that.  They generally show it somehow.  Marie
+never looks lovelorn.  I don't believe a bit of it; and as for him,
+all the time he has been away he has never so much as sent a word of
+a message to one of us.'
+
+'He sent his love to you, when I saw him, quite dutifully,' said
+Madame Voss.
+
+'Why don't he come and see us if he cares for us?  It isn't of him
+that Marie is thinking.'
+
+'It isn't of anybody else then,' said Madame Voss.  'I never see her
+speak a word to any of the young men, nor one of them ever speaking
+a word to her.'
+
+Pondering over all this, Michel Voss resolved that he would have it
+all out with his niece on the following Sunday.
+
+On the Sunday he engaged Marie to start with him after dinner to the
+place on the hillside where they were cutting wood.  It was a
+beautiful autumn afternoon, in that pleasantest of all months in the
+year, when the sun is not too hot, and the air is fresh and balmy,
+and one is still able to linger abroad, loitering either in or out
+of the shade, when the midges cease to bite, and the sun no longer
+scorches and glares; but the sweet vestiges of summer remain, and
+everything without doors is pleasant and friendly, and there is the
+gentle unrecognised regret for the departing year, the unconscious
+feeling that its glory is going from us, to add the inner charm of a
+soft melancholy to the outer luxury of the atmosphere.  I doubt
+whether Michel Voss had ever realised the fact that September is the
+kindliest of all the months, but he felt it, and enjoyed the leisure
+of his Sunday afternoon when he could get his niece to take a
+stretch with him on the mountain-side.  On these occasions Madame
+Voss was left at home with M. le Cure, who liked to linger over his
+little cup of coffee.  Madame Voss, indeed, seldom cared to walk
+very far from the door of her own house; and on Sundays to go to the
+church and back again was certainly sufficient exercise.
+
+Michel Voss said no word about Adrian Urmand as they were ascending
+the hill.  He was too wise for that.  He could not have given effect
+to his experience with sufficient eloquence had he attempted the
+task while the burden of the rising ground was upon his lungs and
+chest.  They turned into a saw-mill as they went up, and counted the
+scantlings of timber that had been cut; and Michel looked at the
+cradle to see that it worked well, and to the wheels to see that
+they were in good order, and observed that the channel for the water
+required repairs, and said a word as to the injury that had come to
+him because George had left him.  'Perhaps he may come back soon,'
+said Marie.  To this he made no answer, but continued his path up
+the mountain-side.  'There will be plenty of feed for the cows this
+autumn,' said Marie Bromar.  'That is a great comfort.'
+
+'Plenty,' said Michel; 'plenty.'  But Marie knew from the tone of
+his voice that he was not thinking about the grass, and so she held
+her peace.  But the want or plenty of the pasture was generally a
+subject of the greatest interest to the people of Granpere at that
+special time of the year, and one on which Michel Voss was ever
+ready to speak.  Marie therefore knew that there was something on
+her uncle's mind.  Nevertheless he inspected the timber that was
+cut, and made some remarks about the work of the men.  They were not
+so careful in barking the logs as they used to be, and upon the
+whole he thought that the wood itself was of a worse quality.  What
+is there that we do not find to be deteriorating around us when we
+consider the things in detail, though we are willing enough to admit
+a general improvement?  'Yes,' said he, in answer to some remarks
+from Marie, 'we must take it, no doubt, as God gives it to us, but
+we need not spoil it in the handling.  Sit down, my dear; I want to
+speak to you for a few minutes.'  Then they sat down together on a
+large prostrate pine, which was being prepared to be sent down to
+the saw-mill.  'My dear,' said he, 'I want to speak to you about
+Adrian Urmand.'  She blushed and trembled as she placed herself
+beside him; but he hardly noticed it.  He was not quite at his ease
+himself, and was a little afraid of the task he had undertaken.
+'Adrian tells me that he asked you to take him as your lover, and
+that you refused.'
+
+'Yes, Uncle Michel.'
+
+'But why, my dear?  How are you to do better?  Perhaps I, or your
+aunt, should have spoken to you first, and told you that we thought
+well of the match.'
+
+'It wasn't that, uncle.  I knew you thought well of it; or, at
+least, I believed that you did.'
+
+'And what is your objection, Marie?'
+
+'I don't object to M. Urmand, uncle;--at least, not particularly.'
+
+'But he says you do object.  You would not accept him when he
+offered himself.'
+
+'No; I did not accept him.'
+
+'But you will, my dear,--if he comes again?'
+
+'No, uncle.'
+
+'And why not?  Is he not a good young man?'
+
+'O, yes,--that is, I daresay.'
+
+'And he has a good business.  I do not know what more you could
+expect.'
+
+'I expect nothing, uncle,--except not to go away from you.'
+
+'Ah,--but you must go away from me.  I should be very wrong, and so
+would your aunt, to let you remain here till you lose your good
+looks, and become an old woman on our hands.  You are a pretty girl,
+Marie, and fit to be any man's wife, and you ought to take a
+husband.  I am quite in earnest now, my dear; and I speak altogether
+for your own welfare.'
+
+'I know you are in earnest, and I know that you speak for my
+welfare.'
+
+'Well;--well;--what then?  Of course, it is only reasonable that you
+should be married some day.  Here is a young man in a better way of
+business than any man, old or young, that comes into Granpere.  He
+has a house in Basle, and money to put in it whatever you want.  And
+for the matter of that, Marie, my niece shall not go away from me
+empty-handed.'
+
+She drew herself closer to him and took hold of his arm and pressed
+it, and looked up into his face.
+
+'I brought nothing with me,' she said, 'and I want to take nothing
+away.'
+
+'Is that it?' he said, speaking rapidly.  'Let me tell you then, my
+girl, that you shall have nothing but your earnings,--your fair
+earnings.  Don't you take trouble about that.  Urmand and I will
+settle that between us, and I will go bail there shall be no
+unpleasant words.  As I said before, my girl sha'n't leave my house
+empty-handed; but, Lord bless you, he would only be too happy to
+take you in your petticoat, just as you are.  I never saw a fellow
+more in love with a girl.  Come, Marie, you need not mind saying the
+word to me, though you could not bring yourself to say it to him.'
+
+'I can't say that word, uncle, either to you or to him.'
+
+'And why the devil not?' said Michel Voss, who was beginning to be
+tired of being eloquent.
+
+'I would rather stay at home with you and my aunt.'
+
+'O, bother!'
+
+'Some girls stay at home always.  All girls do not get married.  I
+don't want to be taken to Basle.'
+
+'This is all nonsense,' said Michel, getting up.  'If you're a good
+girl, you will do as you are told.'
+
+'It would not be good to be married to a man if I do not love him.'
+
+'But why shouldn't you love him?  He's just the man that all the
+girls always love.  Why don't you love him?'
+
+As Michel Voss asked this last question, there was a tone of anger
+in his voice.  He had allowed his niece considerable liberty, and
+now she was unreasonable.  Marie, who, in spite of her devotion to
+her uncle, was beginning to think that she was ill-used by this
+tone, made no reply.  'I hope you haven't been falling in love with
+any one else,' continued Michel.
+
+'No,' said Marie, in a low whisper.
+
+'I do hope you're not still thinking of George, who has left us
+without casting a thought upon you.  I do hope that you are not such
+a fool as that.'  Marie sat perfectly silent, not moving; but there
+was a frown on her brow and a look of sorrow mixed with anger on her
+face.  But Michel Voss did not see her face.  He looked straight
+before him as he spoke, and was flinging chips of wood to a distance
+in his energy.  'If it's that, Marie, I tell you you had better get
+quit of it at once.  It can come to no good.  Here is an excellent
+husband for you.  Be a good girl, and say that you will accept him.'
+
+'I should not be a good girl to accept a man whom I do not love.'
+
+'Is it any thought about George that makes you say so, child?'
+Michel paused a moment for an answer.  'Tell me,' he continued, with
+almost angry energy, 'is it because of George that you refuse
+yourself to this young man?'
+
+Marie paused again for a moment, and then she replied, 'No, it is
+not.'
+
+'It is not?'
+
+'No, uncle.'
+
+'Then why will you not marry Adrian Urmand?'
+
+'Because I do not care for him.  Why won't you let me remain with
+you, uncle?'
+
+She was very close to him now, and leaning against him; and her
+throat was half choked with sobs, and her eyes were full of tears.
+Michel Voss was a soft-hearted man, and inclined to be very soft of
+heart where Marie Bromar was concerned.  On the other hand he was
+thoroughly convinced that it would be for his niece's benefit that
+she should marry this young trader; and he thought also that it was
+his duty as her uncle and guardian to be round with her, and make
+her understand, that as her friends wished it, and as the young
+trader himself wished it, it was her duty to do as she was desired.
+Another uncle and guardian in his place would hardly have consulted
+the girl at all.  Between his desire to have his own way and reduce
+her to obedience, and the temptation to put his arm round her waist
+and kiss away her tears, he was uneasy and vacillating.  She gently
+put her hand within his arm, and pressed it very close.
+
+'Won't you let me remain with you, uncle?  I love you and Aunt
+Josey' (Madame Voss was named Josephine, and was generally called
+Aunt Josey) 'and the children.  I could not go away from the
+children.  And I like the house.  I am sure I am of use in the
+house.'
+
+'Of course you are of use in the house.  It is not that.'
+
+'Why, then, should you want to send me away?'
+
+'What nonsense you talk, Marie!  Don't you know that a young woman
+like you ought to be married some day--that is if she can get a
+fitting man to take her?  What would the neighbours say of me if we
+kept you at home to drudge for us, instead of settling you out in
+the world properly?  You forget, Marie, that I have a duty to
+perform, and you should not make it so difficult.'
+
+'But if I don't want to be settled?' said Marie.  'Who cares for the
+neighbours?  If you and I understand each other, is not that
+enough?'
+
+'I care for the neighbours,' said Michel Voss with energy.
+
+'And must I marry a man I don't care a bit for, because of the
+neighbours, Uncle Michel?' asked Marie, with something approaching
+to indignation in her voice.
+
+Michel Voss perceived that it was of no use for him to carry on the
+argument.  He entertained a half-formed idea that he did not quite
+understand the objections so strongly urged by his niece; that there
+was something on her mind that she would not tell him, and that
+there might be cruelty in urging the matter upon her; but, in
+opposition to this, there was his assured conviction that it was his
+duty to provide well and comfortably for his niece, and that it was
+her duty to obey him in acceding to such provision as he might make.
+And then this marriage was undoubtedly a good marriage--a match that
+would make all the world declare how well Michel Voss had done for
+the girl whom he had taken under his protection.  It was a marriage
+that he could not bear to see go out of the family.  It was not
+probable that the young linen-merchant, who was so well to do in the
+world, and who, no doubt, might have his choice in larger places
+than Granpere--it was not probable, Michel thought, that he would
+put up with many refusals.  The girl would lose her chance, unless
+he, by his firmness, could drive this folly out of her.  And yet how
+could he be firm, when he was tempted to throw his great arms about
+her, and swear that she should eat of his bread and drink of his
+cup, and be unto him as a daughter, till the last day of their joint
+existence.  When she crept so close to him and pressed his arm, he
+was almost overcome by the sweetness of her love and by the
+tenderness of his own heart.
+
+'It seems to me that you don't understand,' he said at last.  'I
+didn't think that such a girl as you would be so silly.'
+
+To this she made no reply; and then they began to walk down the hill
+together.
+
+They had walked half way home, he stepping a little in advance,--
+because he was still angry with her, or angry rather with himself in
+that he could not bring himself to scold her properly,--and she
+following close behind his shoulder, when he stopped suddenly and
+asked her a question which came from the direction his thoughts were
+taking at the moment.  'You are sure,' he said, 'that you are not
+doing this because you expect George to come back to you?'
+
+'Quite sure,' she said, bearing forward a moment, and answering him
+in a whisper when she spoke.
+
+'By my word, then, I can't understand it.  I can't indeed.  Has
+Urmand done anything to offend you?'
+
+'Nothing, uncle.'
+
+'Nor said anything?'
+
+'Not a word; uncle.  I am not offended.  Of course I am much obliged
+to him.  Only I don't love him.'
+
+'By my faith I don't understand it.  I don't indeed.  It is sheer
+nonsense, and you must get over it.  I shouldn't be doing my duty if
+I didn't tell you that you must get over it.  He will be here again
+in another ten days, and you must have thought better of it by that
+time.  You must indeed, Marie.'
+
+Then they walked down the hill in silence together, each thinking
+intently on the purpose of the other, but each altogether
+misunderstanding the other.  Michel Voss was assured--as she had
+twice implied as much--that she was altogether indifferent to his
+son George.  What he might have said or done had she declared her
+affection for her absent lover, he did not himself know.  He had not
+questioned himself on that point.  Though his wife had told him that
+Marie was ever thinking of George, he had not believed that it was
+so.  He had no reason for disliking a marriage between his son and
+his wife's niece.  When he had first thought that they were going to
+be lovers, under his nose, without his permission,--going to
+commence a new kind of life between themselves without so much as a
+word spoken to him or by him,--he had found himself compelled to
+interfere, compelled as a father and an uncle.  That kind of thing
+could never be allowed to take place in a well-ordered house without
+the expressed sanction of the head of the household.  He had
+interfered,--rather roughly; and his son had taken him at his word.
+He was sore now at his son's coldness to him, and was disposed to
+believe that his son cared not at all for any one at Granpere.  His
+niece was almost as dear to him as his son, and much more dutiful.
+Therefore he would do the best he could for his niece.  Marie's
+declaration that George was nothing to her,--that she did not think
+of him,--was in accordance with his own ideas.  His wife had been
+wrong.  His wife was usually wrong when any headwork was required.
+There could be no good reason why Marie Bromar should not marry
+Adrian Urmand.
+
+But Marie, as she knew very well, had never declared that George
+Voss was nothing to her,--that he was forgotten, or that her heart
+was free.  He had gone from her and had forgotten her.  She was
+quite sure of that.  And should she ever hear that he was married to
+some one else,--as it was probable that she would hear some day,--
+then she would be free again.  Then she might take this man or that,
+if her friends wished it--and if she could bring herself to endure
+the proposed marriage.  But at present her troth was plighted to
+George Voss; and where her troth was given, there was her heart
+also.  She could understand that such a circumstance, affecting one
+of so little importance as herself, should be nothing to a man like
+her uncle; but it was everything to her.  George had forgotten her,
+and she had wept sorely over his want of constancy.  But though
+telling herself that this certainly was so, she had declared to
+herself that she would never be untrue till her want of truth had
+been put beyond the reach of doubt.  Who does not know how hope
+remains, when reason has declared that there is no longer ground for
+hoping?
+
+Such had been the state of her mind hitherto; but what would be the
+good of entertaining hope, even if there were ground for hoping,
+when, as was so evident, her uncle would never permit George and her
+to be man and wife?  And did she not owe everything to her uncle?
+And was it not the duty of a girl to obey her guardian?  Would not
+all the world be against her if she refused this man?  Her mind was
+tormented by a thousand doubts, when her uncle said another word to
+her, just as they were entering the village.
+
+'You will try and think better of it;--will you not, my dear?'  She
+was silent.  'Come, Marie, you can say that you will try.  Will you
+not try?'
+
+'Yes, uncle,--I will try.'
+
+Michel Voss went home in a good humour, for he felt that he had
+triumphed; and poor Marie returned broken-hearted, for she was aware
+that she had half-yielded.  She knew that her uncle was triumphant.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V.
+
+When Edmond Greisse was back at Granpere he well remembered his
+message, but he had some doubt as to the expediency of delivering
+it.  He had to reflect in the first place whether he was quite sure
+that matters were arranged between Marie and Adrian Urmand.  The
+story had been told to him as being certainly true by Peter the
+waiter.  And he had discussed the matter with other young men, his
+associates in the place, among all of whom it was believed that
+Urmand was certainly about to carry away the young woman with whom
+they were all more or less in love.  But when, on his return to
+Granpere, he had asked a few more questions, and had found that even
+Peter was now in doubt on a point as to which he had before been so
+sure, he began to think that there would be some difficulty in
+giving his message.  He was not without some little fear of Marie,
+and hesitated to tell her that he had spread the report about her
+marriage.  So he contented himself with simply announcing to her
+that George Voss intended to visit his old home.
+
+'Does my uncle know?' Marie asked.
+
+'No;--you are to tell him,' said Greisse.
+
+'I am to tell him!  Why should I tell him?  You can tell him.'
+
+'But George said that I was to let you know, and that you would tell
+your uncle.'  This was quite unintelligible to Marie; but it was
+clear to her that she could make no such announcement, after the
+conversation which she had had with her uncle.  It was quite out of
+the question that she should be the first to announce George's
+return, when she had been twice warned on that Sunday afternoon not
+to think of him.  'You had better let my uncle know yourself,' she
+said, as she walked away.  But young Greisse, knowing that he was
+already in trouble, and feeling that he might very probably make it
+worse, held his peace.  When therefore one morning George Voss
+showed himself at the door of the inn, neither his father nor Madame
+Voss expected him.
+
+But his father was kind to him, and his mother-in-law hovered round
+him with demonstrations of love and gratitude, as though much were
+due to him for coming back at all.  'But you expected me,' said
+George.
+
+'No, indeed,' said his father.  'We did not expect you now any more
+than on any other day since you left us.'
+
+'I sent word by Edmond Greisse,' said George.  Edmond was
+interrogated, and declared that he had forgotten to give the
+message.  George was too clever to pursue the matter any farther,
+and when he first met Marie Bromar, there was not a word said
+between them beyond what might have been said between any young
+persons so related, after an absence of twelve months.  George Voss
+was very careful to make no demonstration of affection for a girl
+who had forgotten him, and who was now, as he believed, betrothed to
+another man; and Marie was determined that certainly no sign of the
+old love should first be shown by her.  He had come back,--perhaps
+just in time.  He had returned just at the moment in which something
+must be decided.  She had felt how much there was in the little word
+which she had spoken to her uncle.  When a girl says that she will
+try to reconcile herself to a man's overtures, she has almost
+yielded.  The word had escaped her without any such meaning on her
+part,--had been spoken because she had feared to continue to
+contradict her uncle in the full completeness of a positive refusal.
+She had regretted it as soon as it had been spoken, but she could
+not recall it.  She had seen in her uncle's eye and had heard in the
+tone of his voice for how much that word had been taken;--but it had
+gone forth from her mouth, and she could not now rob it of its
+meaning.  Adrian Urmand was to be back at Granpere in a few days--in
+ten days Michel Voss had said; and there were those ten days for her
+in which to resolve what she would do.  Now, as though sent from
+heaven, George had returned, in this very interval of time.  Might
+it not be that he would help her out of her difficulty?  If he would
+only tell her to remain single for his sake, she would certainly
+turn her back upon her Swiss lover, let her uncle say what he might.
+She would make no engagement with George unless with her uncle's
+sanction; but a word, a look of love, would fortify her against that
+other marriage.
+
+George, she thought, had come back a man more to be worshipped than
+ever, as far as appearance went.  What woman could doubt for a
+moment between two such men?  Adrian Urmand was no doubt a pretty
+man, with black hair, of which he was very careful, with white
+hands, with bright small dark eyes which were very close together,
+with a thin regular nose, a small mouth, and a black moustache,
+which he was always pointing with his fingers.  It was impossible to
+deny that he was good-looking after a fashion; but Marie despised
+him in her heart.  She was almost bigger than he was, certainly
+stronger, and had no aptitude for the city niceness and POINT-DEVICE
+fastidiousness of such a lover.  George Voss had come back, not
+taller than when he had left them, but broader in the shoulders, and
+more of a man.  And then he had in his eye, and in his beaked nose,
+and his large mouth, and well-developed chin, that look of command,
+which was the peculiar character of his father's face, and which
+women, who judge of men by their feelings rather than their
+thoughts, always love to see.  Marie, if she would consent to marry
+Adrian Urmand, might probably have her own way in the house in
+everything; whereas it was certain enough that George Voss, wherever
+he might be, would desire to have his way.  But yet there needed not
+a moment, in Marie's estimation, to choose between the two.  George
+Voss was a real man; whereas Adrian Urmand, tried by such a
+comparison, was in her estimation simply a rich trader in want of a
+wife.
+
+In a day or two the fatted calf was killed, and all went happily
+between George and his father.  They walked together up into the
+mountains, and looked after the wood-cutting, and discussed the
+prospects of the inn at Colmar.  Michel was disposed to think that
+George had better remain at Colmar, and accept Madame Faragon's
+offer.  'If you think that the house is worth anything, I will give
+you a few thousand francs to set it in order; and then you had
+better agree to allow her so much a year for her life.'  He probably
+felt himself to be nearly as young a man as his son; and then
+remember too that he had other sons coming up, who would be able to
+carry on the house at Granpere when he should be past his work.
+Michel was a loving, generous-hearted man, and all feeling of anger
+with his son was over before they had been together two days.  'You
+can't do better, George,' he said.  'You need not always stay away
+from us for twelve months, and I might take a turn over the
+mountain, and get a lesson as to how you do things at Colmar.  If
+ten thousand francs will help you, you shall have them.  Will that
+make things go straight with you?'  George Voss thought the sum
+named would make things go very straight; but as the reader knows,
+he had another matter near to his heart.  He thanked his father; but
+not in the joyous thoroughly contented tone that Michel had
+expected.  'Is there anything wrong about it?' Michel said in that
+sharp tone which he used when something had suddenly displeased him.
+
+'There is nothing wrong; nothing wrong at all,' said George slowly.
+'The money is much more than I could have expected.  Indeed I did
+not expect any.'
+
+'What is it then?'
+
+'I was thinking of something else.  Tell me, father; is it true that
+Marie is going to be married to Adrian Urmand?'
+
+'What makes you ask?'
+
+'I heard a report of it,' said George.  'Is it true?'
+
+The father reflected a moment what answer he should give.  It did
+not seem to him that George spoke of such a marriage as though the
+rumour of it had made him unhappy.  The question had been asked
+almost with indifference.  And then the young man's manner to Marie,
+and Marie's manner to him, during the last two days had made him
+certain that he had been right in supposing that they had both
+forgotten the little tenderness of a year ago.  And Michel had
+thoroughly made up his mind that it would be well that Marie should
+marry Adrian.  He believed that he had already vanquished Marie's
+scruples.  She had promised 'to try and think better of it,' before
+George's return; and therefore was he not justified in regarding the
+matter as almost settled?  'I think that they will be married,' said
+he to his son.
+
+'Then there is something in it?'
+
+'O, yes; there is a great deal in it.  Urmand is very eager for it,
+and has asked me and her aunt, and we have consented.'
+
+'But has he asked her?'
+
+'Yes; he has done that too,' said Michel.
+
+'And what answer did he get?'
+
+'Well;--I don't know that it would be fair to tell that.  Marie is
+not a girl likely to jump into a man's arms at the first word.  But
+I think there is no doubt that they will be betrothed before Sunday
+week.  He is to be here again on Wednesday.'
+
+'She likes him, then?'
+
+'O, yes; of course she likes him.'  Michel Voss had not intended to
+say a word that was false.  He was anxious to do the best in his
+power for both his son and his niece.  He thoroughly understood that
+it was his duty as a father and a guardian to start them well in the
+world, to do all that he could for their prosperity, to feed their
+wants with his money, as a pelican feeds her young with blood from
+her bosom.  Had he known the hearts of each of them, could he have
+understood Marie's constancy, or the obstinate silent strength of
+his son's disposition, he would have let Adrian Urmand, with his
+business and his house at Basle, seek a wife in any other quarter
+where he listed, and would have joined together the hands of these
+two whom he loved, with a paternal blessing.  But he did not
+understand.  He thought that he saw everything when he saw nothing;-
+-and now he was deceiving his son; for it was untrue that Marie had
+any such 'liking' for Adrian Urmand as that of which George had
+spoken.
+
+'It is as good as settled, then?' said George, not showing by any
+tone of his voice the anxiety with which the question was asked.
+
+'I think it is as good as settled,' Michel answered.  Before they
+got back to the inn, George had thanked his father for his liberal
+offer, had declared that he would accede to Madame Faragon's
+proposition, and had made his father understand that he must return
+to Colmar on the next Monday,--two days before that on which Urmand
+was expected at Granpere.
+
+The Monday came, and hitherto there had been no word of explanation
+between George and Marie.  Every one in the house knew that he was
+about to return to Colmar, and every one in the house knew that he
+had been entirely reconciled to his father.  Madame Voss had asked
+some question about him and Marie, and had been assured by her
+husband that there was nothing in that suspicion.  'I told you from
+the beginning,' said he, 'that there was nothing of that sort.  I
+only wish that George would think of marrying some one, now that he
+is to have a large house of his own over his head.'
+
+George had determined a dozen times that he would, and a dozen times
+that he would not, speak to Marie about her coming marriage,
+changing his mind as often as it was formed.  Of what use was it to
+speak to her? he would say to himself.  Then again he would resolve
+that he would scorch her false heart by one withering word before he
+went.  Chance at last arranged it for him.  Before he started he
+found himself alone with her for a moment, and it was almost
+impossible that he should not say something.  Then he did speak.
+
+'They tell me you are going to be married, Marie.  I hope you will
+be happy and prosperous.'
+
+'Who tells you so?'
+
+'It is true at any rate, I suppose.'
+
+'Not that I know of.  If my uncle and aunt choose to dispose of me,
+I cannot help it.'
+
+'It is well for girls to be disposed of sometimes.  It saves them a
+world of trouble.'
+
+'I don't know what you mean by that, George;--whether it is intended
+to be ill-natured.'
+
+'No, indeed.  Why should I be ill-natured to you?  I heartily wish
+you to be well and happy.  I daresay M. Urmand will make you a good
+husband.  Good-bye, Marie.  I shall be off in a few minutes.  Will
+you not say farewell to me?'
+
+'Farewell, George.'
+
+'We used to be friends, Marie.'
+
+'Yes;--we used to be friends.'
+
+'And I have never forgotten the old days.  I will not promise to
+come to your marriage, because it would not make either of us happy,
+but I shall wish you well.  God bless you, Marie.'  Then he put his
+arm round her and kissed her, as he might have done to a sister,--as
+it was natural that he should do to Marie Bromar, regarding her as a
+cousin.  She did not speak a word more, and then he was gone!
+
+She had been quite unable to tell him the truth.  The manner in
+which he had first addressed her made it impossible for her to tell
+him that she was not engaged to marry Adrian Urmand,--that she was
+determined, if possible, to avoid the marriage, and that she had no
+love for Adrian Urmand.  Had she done so, she would in so doing have
+asked him to come back to her.  That she should do this was
+impossible.  And yet as he left her, some suspicion of the truth,
+some half-formed idea of the real state of the man's mind in
+reference to her, flashed across her own.  She seemed to feel that
+she was specially unfortunate, but she felt at the same time that
+there was no means within her reach of setting things right.  And
+she was as convinced as ever she had been, that her uncle would
+never give his consent to a marriage between her and George Voss.
+As for George himself, he left her with an assured conviction that
+she was the promised bride of Adrian Urmand.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI.
+
+The world seemed very hard to Marie Bromar when she was left alone.
+Though there were many who loved her, of whose real affection she
+had no doubt, there was no one to whom she could go for assistance.
+Her uncle in this matter was her enemy, and her aunt was completely
+under her uncle's guidance.  Madame Voss spoke to her often in these
+days of the coming of Adrian Urmand, but the manner of her speaking
+was such that no comfort could be taken from it.  Madame Voss would
+risk an opinion as to the room which the young man ought to occupy,
+and the manner in which he should be fed and entertained.  For it
+was thoroughly understood that he was coming on this occasion as a
+lover and not as a trader, and that he was coming as the guest of
+Michel Voss, and not as a customer to the inn.  'I suppose he can
+take his supper like the other people,' Marie said to her aunt.  And
+again, when the question of wine was mooted, she was almost saucy.
+'If he's thirsty,' she said, 'what did for him last week, will do
+for him next week:  and if he's not thirsty, he had better leave it
+alone.'  But girls are always allowed to be saucy about their
+lovers, and Madame Voss did not count this for much.
+
+Marie was always thinking of those last words which had been spoken
+between her and George, and of the kiss that he had given her.  'We
+used to be friends,' he had said, and then he had declared that he
+had never forgotten old days.  Marie was quick, intelligent, and
+ready to perceive at half a glance,--to understand at half a word,
+as is the way with clever women.  A thrill had gone through her as
+she heard the tone of the young man's voice, and she had half told
+herself all the truth.  He had not quite ceased to think of her.
+Then he went, without saying the other one word that would have been
+needful, without even looking the truth into her face.  He had gone,
+and had plainly given her to understand that he acceded to this
+marriage with Adrian Urmand.  How was she to read it all?  Was there
+more than one way in which a wounded woman, so sore at heart, could
+read it?  He had told her that though he loved her still, it did not
+suit him to trouble himself with her as a wife; and that he would
+throw upon her head the guilt of having been false to their old
+vows.  Though she loved him better than all the world, she despised
+him for his thoughtful treachery.  In her eyes it was treachery.  He
+must have known the truth.  What right had he to suppose that she
+would be false to him,--he, who had never known her to lie to him?
+And was it not his business, as a man, to speak some word, to ask
+some question, by which, if he doubted, the truth might be made
+known to him?  She, a woman, could ask no question.  She could speak
+no word.  She could not renew her assurances to him, till he should
+have asked her to renew them.  He was either false, or a traitor, or
+a coward.  She was very angry with him;--so angry that she was
+almost driven by her anger to throw herself into Adrian's arms.  She
+was the more angry because she was full sure that he had not
+forgotten his old love,--that his heart was not altogether changed.
+Had it appeared to her that the sweet words of former days had
+vanished from his memory, though they had clung to hers,--that he
+had in truth learned to look upon his Granpere experiences as the
+simple doings of his boyhood,--her pride would have been hurt, but
+she would have been angry with herself rather than with him.  But it
+had not been so.  The respectful silence of his sojourn in the house
+had told her that it was not so.  The tremor in his voice as he
+reminded her that they once had been friends had plainly told her
+that it was not so.  He had acknowledged that they had been
+betrothed, and that the plight between them was still strong; but,
+wishing to be quit of it, he had thrown the burden of breaking it
+upon her.
+
+She was very wretched, but she did not go about the house with
+downcast eyes or humble looks, or sit idle in a corner with her
+hands before her.  She was quick and eager in the performance of her
+work, speaking sharply to those who came in contact with her.  Peter
+Veque, her chief minister, had but a poor time of it in these days;
+and she spoke an angry word or two to Edmond Greisse.  She had, in
+truth, spoken no words to Edmond Greisse that were not angry since
+that ill-starred communication of which he had only given her the
+half.  To her aunt she was brusque, and almost ill-mannered.
+
+'What is the matter with you, Marie?' Madame Voss said to her one
+morning, when she had been snubbed rather rudely by her niece.
+Marie in answer shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.  'If you
+cannot put on a better look before M. Urmand comes, I think he will
+hardly hold to his bargain,' said Madame Voss, who was angry.
+
+'Who wants him to hold to his bargain?' said Marie sharply.  Then
+feeling ill-inclined to discuss the matter with her aunt, she left
+the room.  Madame Voss, who had been assured by her husband that
+Marie had no real objection to Adrian Urmand, did not understand it
+all.
+
+'I am sure Marie is unhappy,' she said to her husband when he came
+in at noon that day.
+
+'Yes,' said he.  'It seems strange, but it is so, I fancy, with the
+best of our young women.  Her feeling of modesty--of bashfulness if
+you will--is outraged by being told that she is to admit this man as
+her lover.  She won't make the worse wife on that account, when he
+gets her home.'
+
+Madame Voss was not quite sure that her husband was right.  She had
+not before observed young women to be made savage in their daily
+work by the outrage to their modesty of an acknowledged lover.  But,
+as usual, she submitted to her husband.  Had she not done so, there
+would have come that glance from the corner of his eye, and that
+curl in his lip, and that gentle breath from his nostril, which had
+become to her the expression of imperious marital authority.
+Nothing could be kinder, more truly affectionate, than was the heart
+of her husband towards her niece.  Therefore Madame Voss yielded,
+and comforted herself by an assurance that as the best was being
+done for Marie, she need not subject herself to her husband's
+displeasure by contradiction or interference.
+
+Michel Voss himself said little or nothing to his niece at this
+time.  She had yielded to him, making him a promise that she would
+endeavour to accede to his wishes, and he felt that he was bound in
+honour not to trouble her farther, unless she should show herself to
+be disobedient when the moment of trial came.  He was not himself at
+ease, he was not comfortable at heart, because he knew that Marie
+was avoiding him.  Though she would still stand behind his chair at
+supper,--when for a moment she would be still,--she did not put her
+hands upon his head, nor did she speak to him more than the nature
+of her service required.  Twice he tried to induce her to sit with
+them at table, as though to show that her position was altered now
+that she was about to become a bride; but he was altogether
+powerless to effect any such change as this.  No words that could
+have been spoken would have induced Marie to seat herself at the
+table, so well did she understand all that such a change in her
+habits would have seemed to imply.  There was now hardly one person
+in the supper-room of the hotel who did not instinctively understand
+the reason which made Michel Voss anxious that his niece should sit
+down, and that other reason which made her sternly refuse to comply
+with his request.  So, day followed day, and there was but little
+said between the uncle and the niece, though heretofore--up to a
+time still within a fortnight of the present day--the whole business
+of the house had been managed by little whispered conferences
+between them.  'I think we'll do so and so, uncle;' or, 'Just you
+manage it yourself, Marie.'  Such and such-like words had passed
+every morning and evening, with an understanding between them full
+and complete.  Now each was afraid of the other, and everything was
+astray.
+
+But Marie was still gentle with the children:  when she could be
+with them for half an hour, she would sit with them on her lap, or
+clustering round, kissing them and saying soft words to them,--even
+softer in her affection than had been her wont.  They understood as
+well as everybody else that something was wrong,--that there was to
+be some change as to Marie which perhaps would not be a change for
+the better; that there was cause for melancholy, for close kissing
+as though such kissing were in preparation for parting, and for soft
+strokings with their little hands as though Marie were to be pitied
+for that which was about to come upon her.  'Isn't somebody coming
+to take you away?' little Michel asked her, when they were quite
+alone.  Marie had not known how to answer him.  She had therefore
+embraced him closely, and a tear fell upon his face.  'Ah,' he said,
+'I know somebody is coming to take you away.  Will not papa help
+you?'  She had not spoken; but for the moment she had taken courage,
+and had resolved that she would help herself.
+
+At length the day was there on which Adrian Urmand was to come.  It
+was his purpose to travel by Mulhouse and Remiremont, and Michel
+Voss drove over to the latter town to fetch him.  It was felt by
+every one--it could not be but felt--that there was something
+special in his coming.  His arrival now was not like the arrival of
+any one else.  Marie, with all her resolution that it should be like
+usual arrivals at the inn, could not avoid the making of some
+difference herself.  A better supper was prepared than usual; and,
+at the last moment, she herself assisted in preparing it.  The young
+men clustered round the door of the hotel earlier than usual to
+welcome the new-comer.  M. le Cure was there with a clean white
+collar, and with his best hat.  Madame Voss had changed her gown,
+and appeared in her own little room before her husband returned
+almost in her Sunday apparel.  She had said a doubtful word to
+Marie, suggesting a clean ribbon, or an altered frill.  Marie had
+replied only by a look.  She would not have changed a pin for
+Urmand's coming, had all Granpere come round her to tell her that it
+was needful.  If the man wanted more to eat than was customary, let
+him have it.  It was not for her to measure her uncle's hospitality.
+But her ribbons and her pins were her own.
+
+The carriage was driving up to the door, and Michel with his young
+friend descended among the circle of expectant admirers.  Urmand was
+rich, always well dressed, and now he was to be successful in love.
+He had about him a look as of a successful prosperous lover, as he
+jumped out of the little carriage with his portmanteau in his hand,
+and his greatcoat with its silk linings open at the breast.  There
+was a consciousness in him and in every one there that he had not
+come now to buy linen.  He made his way into the little room where
+Madame Voss was standing up, waiting for him, and was taken by the
+hand by her.  Michel Voss soon followed them.
+
+'And where is Marie?' Michel asked.
+
+An answer came from some one that Marie was upstairs.  Supper would
+soon be ready, and Marie was busy.  Then Michel sent up an order by
+Peter that Marie should come down.  But Marie did not come down.
+'She had gone to her own room,' Peter said.  Then there came a frown
+on Michel's brow.  Marie had promised to try, and this was not
+trying.  He said no more till they went up to supper.  There was
+Marie standing as usual at the soup tureen.  Urmand walked up to
+her, and they touched each other's hand; but Marie said never a
+word.  The frown on Michel's brow was very black, but Marie went on
+dispensing her soup.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII.
+
+Adrian Urmand, in spite of his white hands and his well-combed locks
+and the silk lining to his coat, had so much of the spirit of a man
+that he was minded to hold his head well up before the girl whom he
+wished to make his wife.  Michel during that drive from Remiremont
+had told him that he might probably prevail.  Michel had said a
+thousand things in favour of his niece and not a word to her
+prejudice; but he had so spoken, or had endeavoured so to speak, as
+to make Urmand understand that Marie could only be won with
+difficulty, and that she was perhaps unaccountably averse to the
+idea of matrimony.  'She is like a young filly, you know, that
+starts and plunges when she is touched,' he had said.  'You think
+there is nobody else?' Urmand had asked.  Then Michel Voss had
+answered with confidence, 'I am sure there is nobody else.'  Urmand
+had listened and said very little; but when at supper he saw that
+the uncle was ruffled in his temper and sat silent with a black
+brow, that Madame Voss was troubled in spirit, and that Marie
+dispensed her soup without vouchsafing a look to any one, he felt
+that it behoved him to do his best, and he did it.  He talked freely
+to Madame Voss, telling her the news from Basle,--how at length he
+thought the French trade was reviving, and how all the Swiss
+authorities were still opposed to the German occupation of Alsace;
+and how flax was likely to be dearer than ever he had seen it; and
+how the travelling English were fewer this year than usual, to the
+great detriment of the innkeepers.  Every now and then he would say
+a word to Marie herself, as she passed near him, speaking in a
+cheery tone and striving his best to dispel a black silence which on
+the present occasion would have been specially lugubrious.  Upon the
+whole he did his work well, and Michel Voss was aware of it; but
+Marie Bromar entertained no gentle thought respecting him.  He was
+not wanted there, and he ought not to have come.  She had given him
+an answer, and he ought to have taken it.  Nothing, she declared to
+herself, was meaner than a man who would go to a girl's parents or
+guardians for support, when the girl herself had told him that she
+wished to have nothing to do with him.  Marie had promised that she
+would try, but every feeling of her heart was against the struggle.
+
+After supper Michel with his young friend sat some time at the
+table, for the innkeeper had brought forth a bottle of his best
+Burgundy in honour of the occasion.  When they had eaten their
+fruit, Madame Voss left the room, and Michel and Adrian were soon
+alone together.  'Say nothing to her till to-morrow,' said Michel in
+a low voice.
+
+'I will not,' said Adrian.  'I do not wonder that she should be put
+out of face if she knows why I have come.'
+
+'Of course she knows.  Give her to-night and to-morrow, and we will
+see how it is to be.'  At this time Marie was up-stairs with the
+children, resolute that nothing should induce her to go down till
+she should be sure that their visitor had gone to his chamber.
+There were many things about the house which it was her custom to
+see in their place before she went to her rest, and nobody should
+say that she neglected her work because of this dressed-up doll; but
+she would wait till she was sure of him,--till she was sure of her
+uncle also.  In her present frame of mind she could not have spoken
+to the doll with ordinary courtesy.  What she feared was, that her
+uncle should seek her up-stairs.
+
+But Michel had some idea that her part in the play was not an easy
+one, and was minded to spare her for that night.  But she had
+promised to try, and she must be reminded of her promise.  Hitherto
+she certainly had not tried.  Hitherto she had been ill-tempered,
+petulant, and almost rude.  He would not see her himself this
+evening, but he would send a message to her by his wife.  'Tell her
+from me that I shall expect to see smiles on her face to-morrow,'
+said Michel Voss.  And as he spoke there certainly were no smiles on
+his own.
+
+'I suppose she is flurried,' said Madame Voss.
+
+'Ah, flurried!  That may do for to-night.  I have been very good to
+her.  Had she been my own, I could not have been kinder.  I have
+loved her just as if she were my own.  Of course I look now for the
+obedience of a child.'
+
+'She does not mean to be undutiful, Michel.'
+
+'I do not know about meaning.  I like reality, and I will have it
+too.  I consulted herself, and was more forbearing than most fathers
+would be.  I talked to her about it, and she promised me that she
+would do her best to entertain the man.  Now she receives him and me
+with an old frock and a sulky face.  Who pays for her clothes?  She
+has everything she wants,--just as a daughter, and she would not
+take the trouble to change her dress to grace my friend,--as you
+did, as any daughter would!  I am angry with her.'
+
+'Do not be angry with her.  I think I can understand why she did not
+put on another frock.'
+
+'So can I understand.  I can understand well enough.  I am not a
+fool.  What is it she wants, I wonder?  What is it she expects?
+Does she think some Count from Paris is to come and fetch her?'
+
+'Nay, Michel, I think she expects nothing of that sort.'
+
+'Then let her behave like any other young woman, and do as she is
+bid.  He is not old or ugly, or a sot, or a gambler.  Upon my word
+and honour I can't conceive what it is that she wants.  I can't
+indeed.'  It was perhaps the fault of Michel Voss that he could not
+understand that a young woman should live in the same house with
+him, and have a want which he did not conceive.  Poor Marie!  All
+that she wanted now, at this moment, was to be let alone!
+
+Madame Voss, in obedience to her husband's commands, went up to
+Marie and found her sitting in the children's room, leaning with her
+head on her hand and her elbow on the table, while the children were
+asleep around her.  She was waiting till the house should be quiet,
+so that she could go down and complete her work.  'O, is it you,
+Aunt Josey?' she said.  'I am waiting till uncle and M. Urmand are
+gone, that I may go down and put away the wine and the fruit.'
+
+'Never mind that to-night, Marie.'
+
+'O yes, I will go down presently.  I should not be happy if the
+things were not put straight.  Everything is about the house
+everywhere.  We need not, I suppose, become like pigs because M.
+Urmand has come from Basle.'
+
+'No; we need not be like pigs,' said Madame Voss.  'Come into my
+room a moment, Marie.  I want to speak to you.  Your uncle won't be
+up yet.'  Then she led the way, and Marie followed her.  'Your uncle
+is becoming angry, Marie, because--'
+
+'Because why?  Have I done anything to make him angry?'
+
+'Why are you so cross to this young man?'
+
+'I am not cross, Aunt Josey.  I went on just the same as I always
+do.  If Uncle Michel wants anything else, that is his fault;--not
+mine.'
+
+'Of course you know what he wants, and I must say that you ought to
+obey him.  You gave him a sort of a promise, and now he thinks that
+you are breaking it.'
+
+'I gave him no promise,' said Marie stoutly.
+
+'He says that you told him that you would at any rate be civil to M.
+Urmand.'
+
+'And I have been civil,' said Marie.
+
+'You did not speak to him.'
+
+'I never do speak to anybody,' said Marie.  'I have got something to
+think of instead of talking to the people.  How would the things go,
+if I took to talking to the people, and left everything to that
+little goose, Peter?  Uncle Michel is unreasonable,--and unkind.'
+
+'He means to do the best by you in his power.  He wants to treat you
+just as though you were his daughter.'
+
+'Then let him leave me alone.  I don't want anything to be done.  If
+I were his daughter he would not grudge me permission to stop at
+home in his house.  I don't want anything else.  I have never
+complained.'
+
+'But, my dear, it is time that you should be settled in the world.'
+
+'I am settled.  I don't want any other settlement,--if they will
+only let me alone.'
+
+'Marie,' said Madame Voss after a short pause, 'I sometimes think
+that you still have got George Voss in your head.'
+
+'Is it that, Aunt Josey, that makes my uncle go on like this?' asked
+Marie.
+
+'You do not answer me, child.'
+
+'I do not know what answer you want.  When George was here, I hardly
+spoke to him.  If Uncle Michel is afraid of me, I will give him my
+solemn promise never to marry any one without his permission.'
+
+'George Voss will never come back for you,' said Madame Voss.
+
+'He will come when I ask him,' said Marie, flashing round upon her
+aunt with all the fire of her bright eyes.  'Does any one say that I
+have done anything to bring him to me?  If so, it is false, whoever
+says it.  I have done nothing.  He has gone away, and let him stay.
+I shall not send for him.  Uncle Michel need not be afraid of me,
+because of George.'
+
+By this time Marie was speaking almost in a fury of passion, and her
+aunt was almost subdued by her.  'Nobody is afraid of you, Marie,'
+she said.
+
+'Nobody need be.  If they will let me alone, I will do no harm to
+any one.'
+
+'But, Marie, you would wish to be married some day.'
+
+'Why should I wish to be married?  If I liked him, I would take him,
+but I don't.  O, Aunt Josey, I thought you would be my friend!'
+
+'I cannot be your friend, Marie, if you oppose your uncle.  He has
+done everything for you, and he must know best what is good for you.
+There can be no reason against M. Urmand, and if you persist in
+being so unruly, he will only think that it is because you want
+George to come back for you.'
+
+'I care nothing for George,' said Marie, as she left the room;
+'nothing at all--nothing.'
+
+About half-an-hour afterwards, listening at her own door, she heard
+the sound of her uncle's feet as he went to his room, and knew that
+the house was quiet.  Then she crept forth, and went about her
+business.  Nobody should say that she neglected anything because of
+this unhappiness.  She brushed the crumbs from the long table, and
+smoothed the cloth for the next morning's breakfast; she put away
+bottles and dishes, and she locked up cupboards, and saw that the
+windows and the doors were fastened.  Then she went down to her
+books in the little office below stairs.  In the performance of her
+daily duty there were entries to be made and figures to be adjusted,
+which would have been done in the course of the evening, had it not
+been that she had been driven upstairs by fear of her lover and her
+uncle.  But by the time that she took herself up to bed, nothing had
+been omitted.  And after the book was closed she sat there, trying
+to resolve what she would do.  Nothing had, perhaps, given her so
+sharp a pang as her aunt's assurance that George Voss would not come
+back to her, as her aunt's suspicion that she was looking for his
+return.  It was not that she had been deserted, but that others
+should be able to taunt her with her desolation.  She had never
+whispered the name of George to any one since he had left Granpere,
+and she thought that she might have been spared this indignity.  'If
+he fancies I want to interfere with him,' she said to herself,
+thinking of her uncle, and of her uncle's plans in reference to his
+son, 'he will find that he is mistaken.'  Then it occurred to her
+that she would be driven to accept Adrian Urmand to prove that she
+was heart-whole in regard to George Voss.
+
+She sat there, thinking of it till the night was half-spent, and
+when she crept up cold to bed, she had almost made up her mind that
+it would be best for her to do as her uncle wished.  As for loving
+the man, that was out of the question.  But then would it not be
+better to do without love altogether?
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII.
+
+'How is it to be?' said Michel to his niece the next morning.  The
+question was asked downstairs in the little room, while Urmand was
+sitting at table in the chamber above waiting for the landlord.
+Michel Voss had begun to feel that his visitor would be very heavy
+on hand, having come there as a visitor and not as a man of
+business, unless he could be handed over to the woman-kind.  But no
+such handing over would be possible, unless Marie would acquiesce.
+'How is it to be?' Michel asked.  He had so prepared himself that he
+was ready in accordance with a word or a look from his niece either
+to be very angry, thoroughly imperious, and resolute to have his way
+with the dependent girl, or else to be all smiles, and kindness, and
+confidence, and affection.  There was nothing she should not have,
+if she would only be amenable to reason.
+
+'How is what to be, Uncle Michel?' said Marie.
+
+The landlord thought that he discovered an indication of concession
+in his niece's voice, and began immediately to adapt himself to the
+softer courses.  'Well, Marie, you know what it is we all wish.  I
+hope you understand that we love you well, and think so much of you,
+that we would not intrust you to any one living, who did not bear a
+high character and seem to deserve you.'  He was looking into
+Marie's face as he spoke, and saw that she was soft and thoughtful
+in her mood, not proud and scornful as she had been on the preceding
+evening.  'You have grown up here with us, Marie, till it has almost
+come upon us with surprise that you are a beautiful young woman,
+instead of a great straggling girl.'
+
+'I wish I was a great straggling girl still.'
+
+'Do not say that, my darling.  We must all take the world as it is,
+you know.  But here you are, and of course it is my duty and your
+aunt's duty--' it was always a sign of high good humour on the part
+of Michel Voss, when he spoke of his wife as being anybody in the
+household--'my duty and your aunt's duty to see and do the best for
+you.'
+
+'You have always done the best for me in letting me be here.'
+
+'Well, my dear, I hope so.  You had to be here, and you fell into
+this way of life naturally.  But sometimes, when I have seen you
+waiting on the people about the house, I've thought it wasn't quite
+right.'
+
+'I think it was quite right.  Peter couldn't do it all, and he'd be
+sure to make a mess of it.'
+
+'We must have two Peters; that's all.  But as I was saying, that
+kind of thing was natural enough before you were grown up, and had
+become--what shall I say?--such a handsome young woman.'  Marie
+laughed, and turned up her nose and shook her head; but it may be
+presumed that she received some comfort from her uncle's
+compliments.  'And then I began to see, and your aunt began to see,
+that it wasn't right that you should spend your life handing soup to
+the young men here.'
+
+'It is Peter who always hands the soup to the young men.'
+
+'Well, well; but you are waiting upon them, and upon us.'
+
+'I trust the day is never to come, uncle, when I'm to be ashamed of
+waiting upon you.'  When he heard this, he put his arm round her and
+kissed her.  Had he known at that moment what her feelings were in
+regard to his son, he would have recommended Adrian Urmand to go
+back to Basle.  Had he known what were George's feelings, he would
+at once have sent for his son from Colmar.
+
+'I hope you may give me my pipe and my cup of coffee when I'm such
+an old fellow that I can't get up to help myself.  That's the sort
+of reward we look forward to from those we love and cherish.  But,
+Marie, when we see you as you are now--your aunt and I--we feel that
+this kind of thing shouldn't go on.  We want the world to know that
+you are a daughter to us, not a servant.'
+
+'O, the world--the world, uncle!  Why should we care for the world?'
+
+'We must care, my dear.  And you yourself, my dear--if this went on
+for a few years longer, you yourself would become very tired of it.
+It isn't what we should like for you, if you were our own daughter.
+Can't you understand that?'
+
+'No, I can't.'
+
+'Yes, my dear, yes.  I'm sure you do.  Very well.  Then there comes
+this young man.  I am not a bit surprised that he should fall in
+love with you--because I should do it myself if I were not your
+uncle.'  Then she caressed his arm.  How was she to keep herself
+from caressing him, when he spoke so sweetly to her?  'We were not a
+bit surprised when he came and told us how it was.  Nobody could
+have behaved better.  Everybody must admit that.  He spoke of you to
+me and to your aunt as though you were the highest lady in the
+land.'
+
+'I don't want any one to speak of me as though I were a high lady.'
+
+'I mean in the way of respect, my dear.  Every young woman must wish
+to be treated with respect by any young man who comes after her.
+Well;--he told us that it was the great wish of his life that you
+should be his wife.  He's a man who has a right to look for a wife,
+because he can keep a wife.  He has a house, and a business, and
+ready money.'
+
+'What's all that, uncle?'
+
+'Nothing;--nothing at all.  No more than that,'--saying which Michel
+Voss threw his right hand and arm loosely abroad;--'no more than
+that, if he were not himself well-behaved along with it.  We want to
+see you married to him,--your aunt and I,--because we are sure that
+he will be a good husband to you.'
+
+'But if I don't love him, Uncle Michel?'
+
+'Ah, my dear; that's where I think it is that you are dreaming, and
+will go on dreaming till you've lost yourself, unless your aunt and
+I interfere to prevent it.  Love is all very well.  Of course you
+must love your husband.  But it doesn't do for young women to let
+themselves be run away with by romantic ideas;--it doesn't, indeed,
+my dear.  I've heard of young women who've fallen in love with
+statues and men in armour out of poetry, and grand fellows that they
+put into books, and there they've been waiting, waiting, waiting,
+till some man in armour should come for them.  The man in armour
+doesn't come.  But sometimes there comes somebody who looks like a
+man in armour, and that's the worst of all.'
+
+'I don't want a man in armour, Uncle Michel.'
+
+'No, I daresay not.  But the truth is, you don't know what you want.
+The proper thing for a young woman is to get herself well settled,
+if she has the opportunity.  There are people who think so much of
+money, that they'd give a child almost to anybody as long as he was
+rich.  I shouldn't like to see you marry a man as old as myself.'
+
+'I shouldn't care how old he was if I loved him.'
+
+'Nor to a curmudgeon,' continued Michel, not caring to notice the
+interruption, 'nor to an ill-tempered fellow, or one who gambled, or
+one who would use bad words to you.  But here is a young man who has
+no faults at all.'
+
+'I hate people who have no faults,' said Marie.
+
+'Now you must give him an answer to-day or to-morrow.  You remember
+what you promised me when we were coming home the other day.'  Marie
+remembered her promise very well, and thought that a great deal more
+had been made of it than justice would have permitted.  'I don't
+want to hurry you at all, only it makes me so sad at heart when my
+own girl won't come and say a kind word to me and give me a kiss
+before we part at night.  I thought so much of that last night,
+Marie, I couldn't sleep for thinking of it.'  On hearing this, she
+flung her arms round his neck and kissed him on each cheek and on
+his lips.  'I get to feel so, Marie, if there's anything wrong
+between you and me, that I don't know what I'm doing.  Will you do
+this for me, my dear?  Come and sit at table with us this evening,
+and make one of us.  At any rate, come and show that we don't want
+to make a servant of you.  Then we'll put off the rest of it till
+to-morrow.'  When such a request was made to her in such words, how
+could she not accede to it?  She had no alternative but to say that
+she would do in this respect as he would have her.  She smiled, and
+nodded her head, and kissed him again.  'And, Marie darling, put on
+a pretty frock,--for my sake.  I like to see you gay and pretty.'
+Again she nodded her head, and again she kissed him.  Such requests,
+so made, she felt that it would be impossible she should refuse.
+
+And yet when she came to think of it as she went about the house
+alone, the granting of such requests was in fact yielding in
+everything.  If she made herself smart for this young man, and sat
+next him, and smiled, and talked to him, conscious as she would be--
+and he would be also--that she was so placed that she might become
+his wife, how afterwards could she hold her ground?  And if she were
+really resolute to hold her ground, would it not be much better that
+she should do so by giving up no point, even though her uncle's
+anger should rise hot against her?  But now she had promised her
+uncle, and she knew that she could not go back from her word.  It
+would be better for her, she told herself, to think no more about
+it.  Things must arrange themselves.  What did it matter whether she
+were wretched at Basle or wretched at Granpere?  The only thing that
+could give a charm to her life was altogether out of her reach.
+
+After this conversation, Michel went upstairs to his young friend,
+and within a quarter of an hour had handed him over to his wife.  It
+was of course understood now that Marie was not to be troubled till
+the time came for her to sit down at table with her smart frock.
+Michel explained to his wife the full amount of his success, and
+acknowledged that he felt that Marie was already pretty nearly
+overcome.
+
+'She'll try to be pleasant for my sake this evening,' he said, 'and
+so she'll fall into the way of being intimate with him; and when he
+asks her to-morrow she'll be forced to take him.'
+
+It never occurred to him, as he said this, that he was forming a
+plan for sacrificing the girl he loved.  He imagined that he was
+doing his duty by his niece thoroughly, and was rather proud of his
+own generosity.  In the afternoon Adrian Urmand was taken out for a
+drive to the ravine by Madame Voss.  They both, no doubt, felt that
+this was very tedious; but they were by nature patient--quite unlike
+Michel Voss or Marie--and each of them was aware that there was a
+duty to be done.  Adrian therefore was satisfied to potter about the
+ravine, and Madame Voss assured him at least a dozen times that it
+was the dearest wish of her heart to call him her nephew-in-law.
+
+At last the time for supper came.  Throughout the day Marie had said
+very little to any one after leaving her uncle.  Ideas flitted
+across her mind of various modes of escape.  What if she were to run
+away--to her cousin's house at Epinal; and write from thence to say
+that this proposed marriage was impossible?  But her cousin at
+Epinal was a stranger to her, and her uncle had always been to her
+the same as a father.  Then she thought of going to Colmar, of
+telling the whole truth to George, and of dying when he refused her-
+-as refuse her he would.  But this was a dream rather than a plan.
+Or how would it be if she went to her uncle now at once, while the
+young man was away at the ravine, and swore to him that nothing on
+earth should induce her to marry Adrian Urmand?  But brave as Marie
+was, she was afraid to do this.  He had told her how he suffered
+when they two did not stand well together, and she feared to be
+accused by him of unkindness and ingratitude.  And how would it be
+with her if she did accept the man?  She was sufficiently alive to
+the necessities of the world to know that it would be well to have a
+home of her own, and a husband, and children if God would send them.
+She understood quite as well as Michel Voss did that to be head-
+waiter at the Lion d'Or was not a career in life of which she could
+have reason to be proud.  As the afternoon went on she was in great
+doubt.  She spread the cloth, and prepared the room for supper,
+somewhat earlier than usual, knowing that she should require some
+minutes for her toilet.  It was necessary that she should explain to
+Peter that he must take upon himself some self-action upon this
+occasion, and it may be doubted whether she did this with perfect
+good humour.  She was angry when she had to look for him before she
+commenced her operations, and scolded him because he could not
+understand without being told why she went away and left him twenty
+minutes before the bell was rung.
+
+As soon as the bell was heard through the house, Michel Voss, who
+was waiting below with his wife in a quiet unusual manner,
+marshalled the way upstairs.  He had partly expected that Marie
+would join them below, and was becoming fidgety lest she should
+break away from her engagement.  He went first, and then followed
+Adrian and Madame Voss together.  The accustomed guests were all
+ready, because it had come to be generally understood that this
+supper was to be as it were a supper of betrothal.  Madame Voss had
+on her black silk gown.  Michel had changed his coat and his cravat.
+Adrian Urmand was exceedingly smart.  The dullest intellect could
+perceive that there was something special in the wind.  The two old
+ladies who were lodgers in the house came out from their rooms five
+minutes earlier than usual, and met the cortege from downstairs in
+the passage.
+
+When Michel entered the room he at once looked round for Marie.
+There she was standing at the soup-tureen with her back to the
+company.  But he could see that there hung down some ribbon from her
+waist, that her frock was not the one she had worn in the morning,
+and that in the article of her attire she had kept her word with
+him.  He was very awkward.  When one of the old ladies was about to
+seat herself in the chair next to Adrian--in preparation for which
+it must be admitted that Marie had made certain wicked arrangements-
+-Michel first by signs and afterwards with audible words, intended
+to be whispered, indicated to the lady that she was required to
+place herself elsewhere.  This was hard upon the lady, as her own
+table-napkin and a cup out of which she was wont to drink were
+placed at that spot.  Marie, standing at the soup-tureen, heard it
+all and became very spiteful.  Then her uncle called to her:
+
+'Marie, my dear, are you not coming?'
+
+'Presently, uncle,' replied Marie, in a clear voice, as she
+commenced to dispense the soup.
+
+She ladled out all the soup without once turning her face towards
+the company, then stood for a few moments as if in doubt, and after
+that walked boldly up to her place.  She had intended to sit next to
+her uncle, opposite to her lover, and there had been her chair.  But
+Michel had insisted on bringing the old lady round to the seat that
+Marie had intended for herself, and so had disarranged all her
+plans.  The old lady had simpered and smiled and made a little
+speech to M. Urmand, which everybody had heard.  Marie, too, had
+heard it all.  But the thing had to be done, and she plucked up her
+courage and did it.  She placed herself next to her lover, and as
+she did so, felt that it was necessary that she should say something
+at the moment:
+
+'Here I am, Uncle Michel; but you'll find you'll miss me, before
+supper is over.'
+
+'There is somebody would much rather have you than his supper,' said
+the horrid old lady opposite.
+
+Then there was a pause, a terrible pause.
+
+'Perhaps it used to be so when young men came to sup with you, years
+ago; but nowadays men like their supper,' said Marie, who was driven
+on by her anger to a ferocity which she could not restrain.
+
+'I did not mean to give offence,' said the poor old lady meekly.
+
+Marie, as she thought of what she had said, repented so bitterly
+that she could hardly refrain from tears.
+
+'There is no offence at all,' said Michel angrily.
+
+'Will you allow me to give you a little wine?' said Adrian, turning
+to his neighbour.
+
+Marie bowed her head, and held her glass, but the wine remained in
+it to the end of the supper, and there it was left.
+
+When it was all over, Michel felt that it had not been a success.
+With the exception of her savage speech to the disagreeable old
+lady, Marie had behaved well.  She was on her mettle, and very
+anxious to show that she could sit at table with Adrian Urmand, and
+be at her ease.  She was not at her ease, but she made a bold fight-
+-which was more than was done by her uncle or her aunt.  Michel was
+unable to speak in his ordinary voice or with his usual authority,
+and Madame Voss hardly uttered a word.  Urmand, whose position was
+the hardest of all, struggled gallantly, but was quite unable to
+keep up any continued conversation.  The old lady had been
+thoroughly silenced, and neither she nor her sister again opened
+their mouth.  When Madame Voss rose from her chair in order that
+they might all retire, the consciousness of relief was very great.
+
+For that night Marie's duty to her uncle was done.  So much had been
+understood.  She was to dress herself and sit down to supper, and
+after that she was not to be disturbed again till the morrow.  On
+the next morning she was to be subjected to the grand trial.  She
+understood this so well that she went about the house fearless on
+that evening--fearless as regarded the moment, fearful only as
+regarded the morrow.
+
+'May I ask one question, dear?' said her aunt, coming to her after
+she had gone to her own room.  'Have you made up your mind?'
+
+'No,' said Marie; 'I have not made up my mind.'
+
+Her aunt stood for a moment looking at her, and then crept out of
+the room.
+
+In the morning Michel Voss was half-inclined to release his niece,
+and to tell Urmand that he had better go back to Basle.  He could
+see that the girl was suffering, and, after all, what was it that he
+wanted?  Only that she should be prosperous and happy.  His heart
+almost relented; and at one moment, had Marie come across him, he
+would have released her.  'Let it go on,' he said to himself, as he
+took up his cap and stick, and went off to the woods.  'Let it go
+on.  If she finds to-day that she can't take him, I'll never say
+another word to press her.'  He went up to the woods after
+breakfast, and did not come back till the evening.
+
+During breakfast Marie did not show herself at all, but remained
+with the children.  It was not expected that she should show
+herself.  At about noon, as soon as her uncle had started, her aunt
+came to her and asked her whether she was ready to see M. Urmand.
+'I am ready,' said Marie, rising from her seat, and standing upright
+before her aunt.
+
+'And where will you see him, dear?'
+
+'Wherever he pleases,' said Marie, with something that was again
+almost savage in her voice.
+
+'Shall he come up-stairs to you?'
+
+'What, here?'
+
+'No; he cannot come here.  You might go into the little sitting-
+room.'
+
+'Very well.  I will go into the little sitting room.'  Then without
+saying another word she got up, left the room, and went along the
+passage to the chamber in question.  It was a small room, furnished,
+as they all thought at Granpere, with Parisian elegance, intended
+for such visitors to the hotel as might choose to pay for the charm
+and luxury of such an apartment.  It was generally found that
+visitors to Granpere did not care to pay for the luxury of this
+Parisian elegance, and the room was almost always empty.  Thither
+Marie went, and seated herself at once on the centre of the red,
+stuffy, velvet sofa.  There she sat, perfectly motionless, till
+there came a knock at the door.  Marie Bromar was a very handsome
+girl, but as she sat there, all alone, with her hands crossed on her
+lap, with a hard look about her mouth, with a frown on her brow, and
+scorn and disdain for all around her in her eyes, she was as little
+handsome as it was possible that she should make herself.  She
+answered the knock, and Adrian Urmand entered the room.  She did not
+rise, but waited till he had come close up to her.  Then she was the
+first to speak.  'Aunt Josey tells me that you want to see me,' she
+said.
+
+Urmand's task was certainly not a pleasant one.  Though his temper
+was excellent, he was already beginning to think that he was being
+ill-used.  Marie, no doubt, was a very fine girl, but the match that
+he offered her was one at which no young woman of her rank in all
+Lorraine or Alsace need have turned up her nose.  He had been
+invited over to Granpere specially that he might spend his time in
+making love, and he had found the task before him very hard and
+disagreeable.  He was afflicted with all the ponderous notoriety of
+an acknowledged suitor's position, but was consoled with none of the
+usual comforts.  Had he not been pledged to make the attempt, he
+would probably have gone back to Basle; as it was, he was compelled
+to renew his offer.  He was aware that he could not leave the house
+without doing so.  But he was determined that one more refusal
+should be the last.
+
+'Marie,' said he, putting out his hand to her, 'doubtless you know
+what it is that I would say.'
+
+'I suppose I do,' she answered.
+
+'I hope you do not doubt my true affection for you.'
+
+She paused a moment before she replied.  'I have no reason to doubt
+it,' she said.
+
+'No indeed.  I love you with all my heart.  I do truly.  Your uncle
+and aunt think it would be a good thing for both of us that we
+should be married.  What answer will you make me, Marie?'  Again she
+paused.  She had allowed him to take her hand, and as he thus asked
+his question he was standing opposite to her, still holding it.
+'You have thought about it, Marie, since I was here last?'
+
+'Yes; I have thought about it.'
+
+'Well, dearest?'
+
+'I suppose it had better be so,' said she, standing up and
+withdrawing her hand.
+
+She had accepted him; and now it was no longer possible for him to
+go back to Basle except as a betrothed man.  She had accepted him;
+but there came upon him a wretched feeling that none of the triumph
+of successful love had come to him.  He was almost disappointed,--or
+if not disappointed, was at any rate embarrassed.  But it was
+necessary that he should immediately conduct himself as an engaged
+man.  'And you will love me, Marie?' he said, as he again took her
+by the hand.
+
+'I will do my best,' she said.
+
+Then he put his arm round her waist and kissed her, and she did not
+turn away her face from him.  'I will do my best also to make you
+happy,' he said.
+
+'I am sure you will.  I believe you.  I know that you are good.'
+There was another pause during which he stood, still embracing her.
+'I may go now; may I not?' she said.
+
+'You have not kissed me yet, Marie?'  Then she kissed him; but the
+touch of her lips was cold, and he felt that there was no love in
+them.  He knew, though he could hardly define the knowledge to
+himself, that she had accepted him in obedience to her uncle.  He
+was almost angry, but being cautious and even-tempered by nature he
+repressed the feeling.  He knew that he must take her now, and that
+he had better make the best of it.  She would, he was sure, be a
+good wife, and the love would probably come in time.
+
+'We shall be together this evening; shall we not?' he asked.
+
+'O, yes,' said Marie, 'if you please.'  It was, as she knew, only
+reasonable now that they should be together.  Then he let her go,
+and she walked off to her room.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX.
+
+'I suppose it had better be so,' Marie Bromar had said to her lover,
+when in set form he made his proposition.  She had thought very much
+about it, and had come exactly to that state of mind.  She did
+suppose that it had better be so.  She knew that she did not love
+the man.  She knew also that she loved another man.  She did not
+even think that she should ever learn to love Adrian Urmand.  She
+had neither ambition in the matter, nor even any feeling of prudence
+as regarded herself.  She was enticed by no desire of position, or
+love of money.  In respect to all her own feelings about herself she
+would sooner have remained at the Lion d'Or, and have waited upon
+the guests day after day, and month after month.  But yet she had
+supposed 'that it had better be so.'  Her uncle wished it,--wished
+it so strongly that she believed it would be impossible that she
+could remain an inmate in his house, unless she acceded to his
+wishes.  Her aunt manifestly thought that it was her duty to accept
+the man, and could not understand how so manifest a duty, going hand
+in hand as it did with so great an advantage, should be made a
+matter of doubt.  She had not one about her to counsel her to hold
+by her own feelings.  It was the practice of the world around her
+that girls in such matters should do as they were bidden.  And then,
+stronger than all, there was the indifference to her of the man she
+loved!
+
+Marie Bromar was a fine, high-spirited, animated girl; but it must
+not be thought that she was a highly educated lady, or that time had
+been given to her amidst all her occupations, in which she could
+allow her mind to dwell much on feelings of romance.  Her life had
+ever been practical, busy, and full of action.  As is ever the case
+with those who have to do chiefly with things material, she was
+thinking more frequently of the outer wants of those around her,
+than of the inner workings of her own heart and personal
+intelligence.  Would the bread rise well?  Would that bargain she
+had made for poultry suffice for the house?  Was that lot of wine
+which she had persuaded her uncle to buy of a creditable quality?
+Were her efforts for increasing her uncle's profits compatible with
+satisfaction on the part of her uncle's guests?  Such were the
+questions which from day to day occupied her attention and filled
+her with interest.  And therefore her own identity was not strong to
+her, as it is strong to those whose business permits them to look
+frequently into themselves, or whose occupations are of a nature to
+produce such introspection.  If her head ached, or had she lamed her
+hand by any accident, she would think more of the injury to the
+household arising from her incapacity than of her own pain.  It is
+so, reader, with your gardener, your groom, or your cook, if you
+will think of it.  Till you tell them by your pity that they are the
+sufferers, they will think that it is you who are most affected by
+their ailments.  And the man who loses his daily wage because he is
+ill complains of his loss and not of his ailment.  His own identity
+is half hidden from him by the practical wants of his life.
+
+Had Marie been disappointed in her love without the appearance of
+any rival suitor, no one would have ever heard of her love.  Had
+George Voss married, she would have gone on with her work without a
+sign of outward sorrow; or had he died, she would have wept for him
+with no peculiar tears.  She did not expect much from the world
+around her, beyond this, that the guests should not complain about
+their suppers as long as the suppers provided were reasonably good.
+Had no great undertaking been presented to her, the performance of
+no heavy task demanded from her, she would have gone on with her
+work without showing even by the altered colour of her cheek that
+she was a sufferer.  But this other man had come,--this Adrian
+Urmand; and a great undertaking was presented to her, and the
+performance of a heavy task was demanded from her.  Then it was
+necessary that there should be identity of self and introspection.
+She had to ask herself whether the task was practicable, whether its
+performance was within the scope of her powers.  She told herself at
+first that it was not to be done; that it was one which she would
+not even attempt.  Then as she looked at it more frequently, as she
+came to understand how great was the urgency of her uncle; as she
+came to find, in performing that task of introspection, how
+unimportant a person she was herself, she began to think that the
+attempt might be made.  'I suppose it had better be so,' she had
+said.  What was she that she should stand in the way of so many
+wishes?  As she had worked for her bread in her uncle's house at
+Granpere, so would she work for her bread in her husband's house at
+Basle.  No doubt there were other things to be joined to her work,--
+things the thought of which dismayed her.  She had fought against
+them for a while; but, after all, what was she, that she should
+trouble the world by fighting?  When she got to Basle she would
+endeavour to see that the bread should rise there, and the wine be
+sufficient, and the supper such as her husband might wish it to be.
+
+Was it not the manifest duty of every girl to act after this
+fashion?  Were not all marriages so arranged in the world around
+her?  Among the Protestants of Alsace, as she knew, there was some
+greater latitude of choice than was ever allowed by the stricter
+discipline of Roman Catholic education.  But then she was a Roman
+Catholic, as was her aunt; and she was too proud and too grateful to
+claim any peculiar exemption from the Protestantism of her uncle.
+She had resolved during those early hours of the morning that 'it
+had better be so.'  She thought that she could go through with it
+all, if only they would not tease her, and ask her to wear her
+Sunday frock, and force her to sit down with them at table.  Let
+them settle the day--with a word or two thrown in by herself to
+increase the distance--and she would be absolutely submissive, on
+condition that nothing should be required of her till the day should
+come.  There would be a bad week or two then while she was being
+carried off to her new home; but she had looked forward and had told
+herself that she would fill her mind with the care of one man's
+house, as she had hitherto filled it with the care of the house of
+another man.
+
+'So it is all right,' said her aunt, rushing up to her with warm
+congratulations, ready to flatter her, prone to admire her.  It
+would be something to have a niece married to Adrian Urmand, the
+successful young merchant of Basle.  Marie Bromar was already in her
+aunt's eyes something different from her former self.
+
+'I hope so, aunt.'
+
+'Hope so; but it is so, you have accepted him?'
+
+'I hope it is right, I mean.'
+
+'Of course it is right' said Madame Voss.  'How can it be wrong for
+a girl to accept the man whom all her friends wish her to marry?  It
+must be right.  And your uncle will be so happy.'
+
+'Dear uncle!'
+
+'Yes, indeed.  He has been so good; and it has made me wretched to
+see that he has been disturbed.  He has been as anxious that you
+should be settled well, as though you had been his own.  And this
+will be to be settled well.  I am told that M. Urmand's house is one
+of those which look down upon the river from near the church; the
+very best position in all the town.  And it is full of everything,
+they say.  His father spared nothing for furniture when he was
+married.  And they say that his mother's linen was quite a sight to
+be seen.  And then, Marie, everybody acknowledges that he is such a
+nice-looking young man!'
+
+But it was not a part of Marie's programme to be waked up to
+enthusiasm--at any rate by her aunt.  She said little or nothing,
+and would not even condescend to consider that interesting question,
+of the day of the wedding.  'There is quite time enough for all
+that, Aunt Josey,' she said, as she got up to go about her work.
+Aunt Josey was almost inclined to resent such usage, and would have
+done so, had not her respect for her niece been so great.
+
+Michel did not return till near seven, and walking straight through
+his wife's room to Marie's seat of office, came upon his niece
+before he had seen any one else.  There was an angry look about his
+brow, for he had been trying to teach himself that he was ill-used
+by his niece, in spite of that half-formed resolution to release her
+from persecution if she were still firm in her opposition to the
+marriage.  'Well,' he said, as soon as he saw her,--'well, how is it
+to be?'  She got off her stool, and coming close to him put up her
+face to be kissed.  He understood it all in a moment, and the whole
+tone and colour of his countenance was altered.  There was no man
+whose face would become more radiant with satisfaction than that of
+Michel Voss--when he was satisfied.  Please him--and immediately
+there would be an effort on his part to please everybody around him.
+'My darling, my own one,' he said, 'it is all right.'  She kissed
+him again and pressed his arm, but said not a word.  'I am so glad,'
+he exclaimed; 'I am so glad!'  And he knocked off his cap with his
+hand, not knowing what he was doing.  'We shall have but a poor
+house without you, Marie--a very poor house.  But it is as it ought
+to be.  I have felt for the last year or two, as you have sprung up
+to be such a woman among us, my dear, that there was only one place
+fit for such a one.  It is proper that you should be mistress
+wherever you are.  It has wounded me--I don't mind saying it now--it
+has wounded me to see you waiting on the sort of people that come
+here.'
+
+'I have only been too happy, uncle, in doing it.'
+
+'That's all very well; that's all very well, my dear.  But I am
+older than you, and time goes quick with me.  I tell you it made me
+unhappy.  I thought I wasn't doing my duty by you.  I was beginning
+to know that you ought to have a house and servants of your own.
+People say that it is a great match for you; but I tell them that it
+is a great match for him.  Perhaps it is because you've been my own
+in a way, but I don't see any girl like you round the country.'
+
+'You shouldn't say such things to flatter me, Uncle Michel.'
+
+'I choose to say what I please, and think what I please, about my
+own girl,' he said, with his arm close wound round her.  'I say it's
+a great match for Adrian Urmand, and I am quite sure that he will
+not contradict me.  He has had sense enough to know what sort of a
+young woman will make the best wife for him, and I respect him for
+it.  I shall always respect Adrian Urmand because he has known
+better than to take up with one of your town-bred girls, who never
+learn anything except how to flaunt about with as much finery on
+their backs as they can get their people to give them.  He might
+have had the pick of them at Basle,--or at Strasbourg either, for
+the matter of that; but he has thought my girl better than them all;
+and I love him for it--so I do.  It was to be expected that a young
+fellow with means to please himself should choose to have a good-
+looking wife to sit at his table with him.  Who'll blame him for
+that?  And he has found the prettiest in all the country round.  But
+he has wanted something more than good looks,--and he has got a
+great deal more.  Yes; I say it, I, Michel Voss, though I am your
+uncle;--that he has got the pride of the whole country round.  My
+darling, my own one, my child!'
+
+All this was said with many interjections, and with sundry pauses in
+the speech, during which Michel caressed his niece, and pressed her
+to his breast, and signified his joy by all the outward modes of
+expression which a man so demonstrative knows how to use.  This was
+a moment of great triumph to him, because he had begun to despair of
+success in this matter of the marriage, and had told himself on this
+very morning that the affair was almost hopeless.  While he had been
+up in the wood, he had asked himself how he would treat Marie in
+consequence of her disobedience to him; and he had at last succeeded
+in producing within his own breast a state of mind that was not
+perhaps very reasonable, but which was consonant with his character.
+He would let her know that he was angry with her,--very angry with
+her; that she had half broken his heart by her obstinacy; but after
+that she should be to him his own Marie again.  He would not throw
+her off, because she disobeyed him.  He could not throw her off,
+because he loved her, and knew of no way by which he could get rid
+of his love.  But he would be very angry, and she should know of his
+anger.  He had come home wearing a black cloud on his brow, and
+intending to be black.  But all that was changed in a moment, and
+his only thought now was how to give pleasure to this dear one.  It
+is something to have a niece who brings such credit on the family!
+
+Marie as she listened to his praise and his ecstasies, knowing by a
+sure instinct every turn of his thoughts, tried to take joy to
+herself in that she had given joy to him.  Though he was her uncle,
+and had in fact been her master, he was actually the one real friend
+whom she had made for herself in her life.  There had been a month
+or two of something more than friendship with George Voss; but she
+was too wise to look much at that now.  Michel Voss was the one
+being in the world whom she knew best, of whom she thought most,
+whose thoughts and wishes she had most closely studied, whose
+interests were ever present to her mind.  Perhaps it may be said of
+every human heart in a sound condition that it must be specially
+true to some other one human heart; but it may certainly be so said
+of every female heart.  The object may be changed from time to
+time,--may be changed very suddenly, as when a girl's devotion is
+transferred with the consent of all her friends from her mother to
+her lover; or very slowly, as when a mother's is transferred from
+her husband to some favourite child; but, unless self-worship be
+predominant, there is always one friend to whom the woman's breast
+is true,--for whom it is the woman's joy to offer herself in
+sacrifice.  Now with Marie Bromar that one being had been her uncle.
+She prospered, if he prospered.  His comfort was her comfort.  Even
+when his palate was pleased, there was some gratification akin to
+animal enjoyment on her part.  It was ease to her, that he should be
+at his ease in his arm-chair.  It was mirth to her, that he should
+laugh.  When he was contented she was satisfied.  When he was
+ruffled she was never smooth.  Her sympathy with him was perfect;
+and now that he was radiant with triumph, though his triumph came
+from his victory over herself, she could not deny him the pleasure
+of triumphing with him.
+
+'Dear uncle,' she said, still caressing him, 'I am so glad that you
+are pleased.'
+
+'Of course it will be a poor house without you, Marie.  As for me,
+it will be just as though I had lost my right leg and my right arm.
+But what!  A man is not always to be thinking of himself.  To see
+you treated by all the world as you ought to be treated,--as I
+should choose that my own daughter should be treated,--that is what
+I have desired.  Sometimes when I've thought of it all when I've
+been alone, I have been mad with myself for letting it go on as it
+has done.'
+
+'It has gone on very nicely, I think, Uncle Michel.'  She knew how
+worse than useless it would be now to try and make him understand
+that it would be better for them both that she should remain with
+him.  She knew, to the moving of a feather, what she could do with
+him and what she could not.  Her immediate wish was to enable him to
+draw all possible pleasure from his triumph of the day, and
+therefore she would say no word to signify that his glory was
+founded on her sacrifice.
+
+Then again came up the question of her position at supper, but there
+was no difficulty in the arrangement made between them.  The one
+gala evening of grand dresses--the evening which had been intended
+to be a gala, but which had turned out to be almost funereal--was
+over.  Even Michel Voss himself did not think it necessary that
+Marie should come in to supper with her silk dress two nights
+running; and he himself had found that that changing of his coat had
+impaired his comfort.  He could eat his dinner and his supper in his
+best clothes on Sunday, and not feel the inconvenience; but on other
+occasions those unaccustomed garments were as heavy to him as a suit
+of armour.  There was, therefore, nothing more said about clothes.
+Marie was to dispense her soup as usual,--expressing a confident
+assurance that if Peter were as yet to attempt this special branch
+of duty, the whole supper would collapse,--and then she was to take
+her place at the table, next to her uncle.  Everybody in the house,
+everybody in Granpere, knew that the marriage had been arranged, and
+the old lady who had been so dreadfully snubbed by Marie, had
+forgiven the offence, acknowledging that Marie's position on that
+evening had been one of difficulty.
+
+But these arrangements had reference only to two days.  After two
+days, Adrian was to return to Basle, and to be seen no more at
+Granpere till he came to claim his bride.  In regard to the choice
+of the day, Michel declared roundly that no constraint should be put
+upon Marie.  She should have her full privileges, and no one should
+be allowed to interfere with her.  On this point Marie had brought
+herself to be almost indifferent.  A long engagement was a state of
+things which would have been quite incompatible with such a
+betrothal.  Any delay that could have been effected would have been
+a delay, not of months, but of days,--or at most of a week or two.
+She had made up her mind that she would not be afraid of her
+wedding.  She would teach herself to have no dread either of the man
+or of the thing.  He was not a bad man, and marriage in itself was
+honourable.  She formed ideas also of some future true friendship
+for her husband.  She would endeavour to have a true solicitude for
+his interests, and would take care, at any rate, that nothing was
+squandered that came into her hands.  Of what avail would it be to
+her that she should postpone for a few days the beginning of a
+friendship that was to last all her life?  Such postponement could
+only be induced by a dread of the man, and she was firmly determined
+that she would not dread him.  When they asked her, therefore, she
+smiled and said very little.  What did her aunt think?
+
+Her aunt thought that the marriage should be settled for the
+earliest possible day,--though she never quite expressed her
+thoughts.  Madame Voss, though she did not generally obtain much
+credit for clear seeing, had a clearer insight to the state of her
+niece's mind than had her husband.  She still believed that Marie's
+heart was not with Adrian Urmand.  But, attributing perhaps no very
+great importance to a young girl's heart, and fancying that she knew
+that in this instance the young girl's heart could not have its own
+way, she was quite in favour of the Urmand marriage.  And if they
+were to be married, the sooner the better.  Of that she had no
+doubt.  'It's best to have it over always as soon as possible,' she
+said to her husband in private, nodding her head, and looking much
+wiser than usual.
+
+'I won't have Marie hurried,' said Michel.
+
+'We had better say some day next month, my dear,' said Madame Voss,
+again nodding her head.  Michel, struck by the peculiarity of her
+voice, looked into her face, and saw the unaccustomed wisdom.  He
+made no answer, but after a while nodded his head also, and went out
+of the room a man convinced.  There were matters between women, he
+thought, which men can never quite understand.  It would be very bad
+if there should be any slip here between the cup and the lip; and,
+no doubt, his wife was right.
+
+It was Madame Voss at last who settled the day,--the 15th of
+October, just four weeks from the present time.  This she did in
+concert with Adrian Urmand, who, however, was very docile in her
+hands.  Urmand, after he had been accepted, soon managed to bring
+himself back to that state of mind in which he had before regarded
+the possession of Marie Bromar as very desirable.  For some four-
+and-twenty hours, during which he had thought himself to be ill-
+used, and had meditated a retreat from Granpere, he had contrived to
+teach himself that he might possibly live without her; but as soon
+as he was accepted, and when the congratulations of the men and
+women of Granpere were showered down upon him in quick succession,--
+so that the fact that the thing was to be became assured to him,--he
+soon came to fancy again that he was a man as successful in love as
+he was in the world's good, and that this acquisition of Marie's
+hand was a treasure in which he could take delight.  He undoubtedly
+would be ready by the day named, and would go home and prepare
+everything for Marie's arrival.
+
+They were very little together as lovers during those two days, but
+it was necessary that there should be an especial parting.  'She is
+up-stairs in the little sitting-room,' Aunt Josey said; and up-
+stairs to the little sitting-room Adrian Urmand went.
+
+'I am come to say good-bye,' said Urmand.
+
+'Good-bye, Adrian,' said Marie, putting both her hands in his, and
+offering her cheek to be kissed.
+
+'I shall come back with such joy for the 15th,' said he.
+
+She smiled, and kissed his cheek, and still held his hand.
+'Adrian,' she said.
+
+'My love?'
+
+'As I believe in the dear Jesus, I will do my best to be a good wife
+to you.'  Then he took her in his arms, and kissed her close, and
+went out of the room with tears streaming down his cheeks.  He knew
+now that he was in truth a happy man, and that God had been good to
+him in this matter of his future wife.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X.
+
+'So your cousin Marie is to be married to Adrian Urmand, the young
+linen-merchant at Basle,' said Madame Faragon one morning to George
+Voss.  In this manner were the first assured tidings of the coming
+marriage conveyed to the rival lover.  This occurred a day or two
+after the betrothal, when Adrian was back at Basle.  No one at
+Granpere had thought of writing an express letter to George on the
+subject.  George's father might have done so, had the writing of
+letters been a customary thing with him; but his correspondence was
+not numerous, and such letters as he did write were short, and
+always confined to matters concerning his trade.  Madame Voss had,
+however, sent a special message to Madame Faragon, as soon as Adrian
+had gone, thinking that it would be well that in this way George
+should learn the truth.
+
+It had been fully arranged by this time that George Voss was to be
+the landlord of the hotel at Colmar on and from the first day of the
+following year.  Madame Faragon was to be allowed to sit in the
+little room downstairs, to scold the servants, and to make the
+strangers from a distance believe that her authority was unimpaired.
+She was also to receive a moderate annual pension in money in
+addition to her board and lodging.  For these considerations, and on
+condition that George Voss should expend a certain sum of money in
+renewing the faded glories of the house, he was to be the landlord
+in full enjoyment of all real power on the first of January
+following.  Madame Faragon, when she had expressed her agreement to
+the arrangement, which was indeed almost in all respects one of her
+own creation, wept and wheezed and groaned bitterly.  She declared
+that she would soon be dead, and so trouble him no more.
+Nevertheless, she especially stipulated that she should have a new
+arm-chair for her own use, and that the feather bed in her own
+chamber should be renewed.
+
+'So your cousin Marie is to be married to Adrian Urmand, the young
+linen-merchant at Basle,' said Madame Faragon.
+
+'Who says so?' demanded George.  He asked his question in a quiet
+voice; but, though the news had reached him thus suddenly, he had
+sufficient control over himself to prevent any plain expression of
+his feelings.  The thing which had been told him had gone into his
+heart like a knife; but he did not intend that Madame Faragon should
+know that he had been wounded.
+
+'It is quite true.  There is no doubt about it.  Stodel's man with
+the roulage brought me word direct from your step-mother.'  George
+immediately began to inquire within himself why Stodel's man with
+the roulage had not brought some word direct to him, and answered
+the question to himself not altogether incorrectly.  'O, yes,'
+continued Madame Faragon, 'it is quite true--on the 15th of October.
+I suppose you will be going over to the wedding.'  This she said in
+her usual whining tone of small complaint, signifying thereby how
+great would be the grievance to herself to be left alone at that
+special time.
+
+'I shall not go to the wedding,' said George.  'They can be married,
+if they are to be married, without me.'
+
+'They are to be married; you may be quite sure of that.'  Madame
+Faragon's grievance now consisted in the amount of doubt which was
+being thrown on the tidings which had been sent direct to her.  'Of
+course you will choose to have a doubt, because it is I who tell
+you.'
+
+'I do not doubt it at all.  I think it is very likely.  I was well
+aware before that my father wished it.'
+
+'Of course he would wish it, George.  How should he not wish it?
+Marie Bromar never had a franc of her own in her life, and it is not
+to be expected that he, with a family of young children at his
+heels, is to give her a dot.'
+
+'He will give her something.  He will treat her as though she were a
+daughter.'
+
+'Then I think he ought not.  But your father was always a romantic,
+headstrong man.  At any rate, there she is,--bar-maid, as we may
+say, in the hotel,--much the same as our Floschen here; and, of
+course, such a marriage as this is a great thing; a very great
+thing, indeed.  How should they not wish it?'
+
+'O, if she likes him--!'
+
+'Like him?  Of course, she will like him.  Why should she not like
+him?  Young, and good-looking, with a fine business, doesn't owe a
+sou, I'll be bound, and with a houseful of furniture.  Of course,
+she'll like him.  I don't suppose there is so much difficulty about
+that.'
+
+'I daresay not,' said George.  'I believe that women's likings go
+after that fashion, for the most part.'
+
+Madame Faragon, not understanding this general sarcasm against her
+sex, continued the expression of her opinion about the coming
+marriage.  'I don't suppose anybody will think of blaming Marie
+Bromar for accepting the match when it was proposed to her.  Of
+course, she would do as she was bidden, and could hardly be expected
+to say that the man was above her.'
+
+'He is not above her,' said George in a hoarse voice.
+
+'Marie Bromar is nothing to you, George; nothing in blood; nothing
+beyond a most distant cousin.  They do say that she has grown up
+good-looking.'
+
+'Yes;--she is a handsome girl.'
+
+'When I remember her as a child she was broad and dumpy, and they
+always come back at last to what they were as children.  But of
+course M. Urmand only looks to what she is now.  She makes her hay
+while the sun shines; but I hope the people won't say that your
+father has caught him at the Lion d'Or, and taken him in.'
+
+'My father is not the man to care very much what anybody says about
+such things.'
+
+'Perhaps not so much as he ought, George,' said Madame Faragon,
+shaking her head.
+
+After that George Voss went about the house for some hours, doing
+his work, giving his orders, and going through the usual routine of
+his day's business.  As he did so, no one guessed that his mind was
+disturbed.  Madame Faragon had not the slightest suspicion that the
+matter of Marie's marriage was a cause of sorrow to him.  She had
+felt the not unnatural envy of a woman's mind in such an affair, and
+could not help expressing it, although Marie Bromar was in some sort
+connected with herself.  But she was sure that such an arrangement
+would be regarded as a family triumph by George,--unless, indeed, he
+should be inclined to quarrel with his father for over-generosity in
+that matter of the dot.  'It is lucky that you got your little bit
+of money before this affair was settled,' said she.
+
+'It would not have made the difference of a copper sou,' said George
+Voss, as he walked angrily out of the old woman's room.  This was in
+the evening, after supper, and the greater part of the day had
+passed since he had first heard the news.  Up to the present moment
+he had endeavoured to shake the matter off from him, declaring to
+himself that grief--or at least any outward show of grief--would be
+unmanly and unworthy of him.  With a strong resolve he had fixed his
+mind upon the affairs of his house, and had allowed himself to
+meditate as little as might be possible.  But the misery, the agony,
+had been then present with him during all those hours,--and had been
+made the sharper by his endeavours to keep it down and banish it
+from his thoughts.  Now, as he went out from Madame Faragon's room,
+having finished all that it was his duty to do, he strolled into the
+town, and at once began to give way to his thoughts.  Of course he
+must think about it.  He acknowledged that it was useless for him to
+attempt to get rid of the matter and let it be as though there were
+no such persons in the world as Marie Bromar and Adrian Urmand.  He
+must think about it; but he might so give play to his feelings that
+no one should see him in the moments of his wretchedness.  He went
+out, therefore, among the dark walks in the town garden, and there,
+as he paced one alley after another in the gloom, he revelled in the
+agony which a passionate man feels when the woman whom he loves is
+to be given into the arms of another.
+
+As he thought of his own life during the past year or fifteen
+months, he could not but tell himself that his present suffering was
+due in some degree to his own fault.  If he really loved this girl,
+and if it had been his intention to try and win her for himself, why
+had he taken his father at his word and gone away from Granpere?
+And why, having left Granpere, had he taken no trouble to let her
+know that he still loved her?  As he asked himself these questions,
+he was hardly able himself to understand the pride which had driven
+him away from his old home, and which had kept him silent so long.
+She had promised him that she would be true to him.  Then had come
+those few words from his father's mouth, words which he thought his
+father should never have spoken to him, and he had gone away,
+telling himself that he would come back and fetch her as soon as he
+could offer her a home independently of his father.  If, after the
+promises she had made to him, she would not wait for him without
+farther words and farther vows, she would not be worth the having.
+In going, he had not precisely told himself that there should be no
+intercourse between them for twelve months; but the silence which he
+had maintained, and his continued absence, had been the consequence
+of the mood of his mind and the tenor of his purpose.  The longer he
+had been away from Granpere without tidings from any one there, the
+less possible had it been that he should send tidings from himself
+to his old home.  He had not expected messages.  He had not expected
+any letter.  But when nothing came, he told himself over and over
+again that he too would be silent, and would bide his time.  Then
+Edmond Greisse had come to Colmar, and brought the first rumour of
+Adrian Urmand's proposal of marriage.
+
+The reader will perhaps remember that George, when he heard this
+first rumour, had at once made up his mind to go over to Granpere,
+and that he went.  He went to Granpere partly believing, and partly
+disbelieving Edmond's story.  If it were untrue, perhaps she might
+say a word to him that would comfort him and give him new hope.  If
+it were true, she would have to tell him so; and then he would say a
+word to her that should tear her heart, if her heart was to be
+reached.  But he would never let her know that she had torn his own
+to rags!  That was the pride of his manliness; and yet he was so
+boyish as not to know that it should have been for him to make those
+overtures for a renewal of love, which he hoped that Marie would
+make to him.  He had gone over to Granpere, and the reader will
+perhaps again remember what had passed then between him and Marie.
+Just as he was leaving her he had asked her whether she was to be
+married to this man.  He had made no objection to such a marriage.
+He had spoken no word of the constancy of his own affection.  In his
+heart there had been anger against her because she had spoken no
+such word to him,--as of course there was also in her heart against
+him, very bitter and very hot.  If he wished her to be true to him,
+why did he not say so?  If he had given her up, why did he come
+there at all?  Why did he ask any questions about her marriage, if
+on his own behalf he had no statement to make,--no assurance to
+give?  What was her marriage, or her refusal to be married, to him?
+Was she to tell him that, as he had deserted her, and as she could
+not busy herself to overcome her love, therefore she was minded to
+wear the willow for ever?  'If my uncle and aunt choose to dispose
+of me, I cannot help it,' she had said.  Then he had left her, and
+she had been sure that for him that early game of love was a game
+altogether played out.  Now, as he walked along the dark paths of
+the town garden, something of the truth came upon him.  He made no
+excuse for Marie Bromar.  She had given him a vow, and should have
+been true to her vow, so he said to himself a dozen times.  He had
+never been false.  He had shown no sign of falseness.  True of
+heart, he had remained away from her only till he might come and
+claim her, and bring her to a house that he could call his own.
+This also he told himself a dozen times.  But, nevertheless, there
+was a very agony of remorse, a weight of repentance, in that he had
+not striven to make sure of his prize when he had been at Granpere
+before the marriage was settled.  Had she loved him as she ought to
+have loved him, had she loved him as he loved her, there should have
+been no question possible to her of marriage with another man.  But
+still he repented, in that he had lost that which he desired, and
+might perhaps have then obtained it for himself.
+
+But the strong feeling of his breast, the strongest next to his
+love, was a desire to be revenged.  He cared little now for his
+father, little for that personal dignity which he had intended to
+return by his silence, little for pecuniary advantages and
+prudential motives, in comparison with his strong desire to punish
+Marie for her perfidy.  He would go over to Granpere, and fall among
+them like a thunderbolt.  Like a thunderbolt, at any rate, he would
+fall upon the head of Marie Bromar.  The very words of her love-
+promises were still firm in his memory, and he would see if she also
+could be made to remember them.
+
+'I shall go over to Granpere the day after to-morrow,' he said to
+Madame Faragon, as he caught her just before she retired for the
+night.
+
+'To Granpere the day after to-morrow?  And why?'
+
+'Well, I don't know that I can say exactly why.  I shall not be at
+the marriage, but I should like to see them first.  I shall go the
+day after to-morrow.'
+
+And he went to Granpere on the day he fixed.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI.
+
+'Probably one night only, but I won't make any promise,' George had
+said to Madame Faragon when she asked him how long he intended to
+stay at Granpere.  As he took one of the horses belonging to the inn
+and drove himself, it seemed to be certain that he would not stay
+long.  He started all alone, early in the morning, and reached
+Granpere about twelve o'clock.  His mind was full of painful
+thoughts as he went, and as the little animal ran quickly down the
+mountain road into the valley in which Granpere lies, he almost
+wished that his feet were not so fleet.  What was he to say when he
+got to Granpere, and to whom was he to say it?
+
+When he reached the angular court along two sides of which the house
+was built he did not at once enter the front door.  None of the
+family were then about the place, and he could, therefore, go into
+the stable and ask a question or two of the man who came to meet
+him.  His father, the man told him, had gone up early to the wood-
+cutting, and would not probably return till the afternoon.  Madame
+Voss was no doubt inside, as was also Marie Bromar.  Then the man
+commenced an elaborate account of the betrothals.  There never had
+been at Granpere any marriage that had been half so important as
+would be this marriage; no lover coming thither had ever been
+blessed with so beautiful and discreet a maiden, and no maiden of
+Granpere had ever before had at her feet a lover at the same time so
+good-looking, so wealthy, so sagacious, and so good-tempered.  The
+man declared that Adrian was the luckiest fellow in the world in
+finding such a wife, but his enthusiasm rose to the highest pitch
+when he spoke of Marie's luck in finding such a husband.  There was
+no end to the good with which she would be endowed--'linen,' said
+the man, holding up his hands in admiration, 'that will last out all
+her grandchildren at least!'  George listened to it all, and smiled,
+and said a word or two--was it worth his while to come all the way
+to Granpere to throw his thunderbolt at a girl who had been
+captivated by promises of a chest full of house linen!
+
+George told the man that he would go up to the wood-cutting after
+his father; but before he was out of the court he changed his mind
+and slowly entered the house.  Why should he go to his father?  What
+had he to say to his father about the marriage that could not be
+better said down at the house?  After all, he had but little ground
+of complaint against his father.  It was Marie who had been untrue
+to him, and it was on Marie's head that his wrath must fall.  No
+doubt his father would be angry with him when he should have thrown
+his thunderbolt.  It could not, as he thought, be hurled effectually
+without his father's knowledge; but he need not tell his father the
+errand on which he had come.  So he changed his mind, and went into
+the inn.
+
+He entered the house almost dreading to see her whom he was seeking.
+In what way should he first express his wrath?  How should he show
+her the wreck which by her inconstancy she had made of his
+happiness?  His first words must, if possible, be spoken to her
+alone; and yet alone he could hardly hope to find her.  And he
+feared her.  Though he was so resolved to speak his mind, yet he
+feared her.  Though he intended to fill her with remorse, yet he
+dreaded the effect of her words upon himself.  He knew how strong
+she could be, and how steadfast.  Though his passion told him every
+hour, was telling him all day long, that she was as false as hell,
+yet there was something in him of judgment, something rather of
+instinct, which told him also that she was not bad, that she was a
+firm-hearted, high-spirited, great-minded girl, who would have
+reasons to give for the thing that she was doing.
+
+He went through into the kitchen before he met any one, and there he
+found Madame Voss with the cook and Peter.  Immediate explanations
+had, of course, to be made as to his unexpected arrival;--questions
+asked, and suggestions offered--'Came he in peace, or came he in
+war?'  Had he come because he had heard of the betrothals?  He
+admitted that it was so.  'And you are glad of it?' asked Madame
+Voss.  'You will congratulate her with all your heart?'
+
+'I will congratulate her certainly,' said George.  Then the cook and
+Peter began with a copious flow of domestic eloquence to declare how
+great a marriage this was for the Lion d'Or--how pleasing to the
+master, how creditable to the village, how satisfactory to the
+friends, how joyous to the bridegroom, how triumphant to the bride!
+'No doubt she will have plenty to eat and drink, and fine clothes to
+wear, and an excellent house over her head,' said George in his
+bitterness.
+
+'And she will be married to one of the most respectable young men in
+all Switzerland,' said Madame Voss in a tone of much anger.  It was
+already quite clear to Madame Voss, to the cook, and to Peter, that
+George had not come over from Colmar simply to express his joyous
+satisfaction at his cousin's good fortune.
+
+He soon walked through into the little sitting-room, and his step-
+mother followed him.  'George,' she said, 'you will displease your
+father very much if you say anything unkind about Marie.'
+
+'I know very well,' said he, 'that my father cares more for Marie
+than he does for me.'
+
+'That is not so, George.'
+
+'I do not blame him for it.  She lives in the house with him, while
+I live elsewhere.  It was natural that she should be more to him
+than I am, after he had sent me away.  But he has no right to
+suppose that I can have the same feeling that he has about this
+marriage.  I cannot think it the finest thing in the world for all
+of us that Marie Bromar should succeed in getting a rich young man
+for her husband, who, as far as I can see, never had two ideas in
+his head.'
+
+'He is a most industrious young man, who thoroughly understands his
+business.  I have heard people say that there is no one comes to
+Granpere who can buy better than he can.'
+
+'Very likely not.'
+
+'And at any rate, it is no disgrace to be well off.'
+
+'It is a disgrace to think more about that than anything else.  But
+never mind.  It is no use talking about it, words won't mend it.'
+
+'Why then have you come here now?'
+
+'Because I want to see my father.'  Then he remembered how false was
+this excuse; and remembered also how soon its falseness would
+appear.  'Besides, though I do not like this match, I wish to see
+Marie once again before her marriage.  I shall never see her after
+it.  That is the reason why I have come.  I suppose you can give me
+a bed.'
+
+'O, yes, there are beds enough.'  After that there was some pause,
+and Madame Voss hardly knew how to treat her step-son.  At last she
+asked him whether he would have dinner, and an order was given to
+Peter to prepare something for the young master in the small room.
+And George asked after the children, and in this way the dreaded
+subject was for some minutes laid on one side.
+
+In the mean time, information of George's arrival had been taken
+upstairs to Marie.  She had often wondered what sign he would make
+when he should hear of her engagement.  Would he send her a word of
+affection, or such customary present as would be usual between two
+persons so nearly connected?  Would he come to her marriage?  And
+what would be his own feelings?  She too remembered well, with
+absolute accuracy, those warm, delicious, heavenly words of love
+which had passed between them.  She could feel now the pressure of
+his hand and the warmth of his kiss, when she swore to him that she
+would be his for ever and ever.  After that he had left her, and for
+a year had sent no token.  Then he had come again, and had simply
+asked her whether she were engaged to another man; had asked with a
+cruel indication that he at least intended that the old childish
+words should be forgotten.  Now he was in the house again, and she
+would have to hear his congratulations!
+
+She thought for some quarter of an hour what she had better do, and
+then she determined to go down to him at once.  The sooner the first
+meeting was over the better.  Were she to remain away from him till
+they should be brought together at the supper-table, there would
+almost be a necessity for her to explain her conduct.  She would go
+down to him and treat him exactly as she might have done, had there
+never been any special love between them.  She would do so as
+perfectly as her strength might enable her; and if she failed in
+aught, it would be better to fail before her aunt than in the
+presence of her uncle.  When she had resolved, she waited yet
+another minute or two, and then she went down-stairs.
+
+As she entered her aunt's room George Voss was sitting before the
+stove, while Madame Voss was in her accustomed chair, and Peter was
+preparing the table for his young master's dinner.  George arose
+from his seat at once, and then came a look of pain across his face.
+Marie saw it at once, and almost loved him the more because he
+suffered.  'I am so glad to see you, George,' she said.  'I am so
+glad that you have come.'
+
+She had offered him her hand, and of course he had taken it.  'Yes,'
+he said, 'I thought it best just to run over.  We shall be very busy
+at the hotel before long.'
+
+'Does that mean to say that you are not to be here for my marriage?'
+This she said with her sweetest smile, making all the effort in her
+power to give a gracious tone to her voice.  It was better, she
+knew, to plunge at the subject at once.
+
+'No,' said he.  'I shall not be here then.'
+
+'Ah,--your father will miss you so much!  But if it cannot be, it is
+very good of you to come now.  There would have been something sad
+in going away from the old house without seeing you once more.  And
+though Colmar and Basle are very near, it will not be the same as in
+the dear old home;--will it, George?'  There was a touch about her
+voice as she called him by his name, that nearly killed him.  At
+that moment his hatred was strongest against Adrian.  Why had such
+an upstart as that, a puny, miserable creature, come between him and
+the only thing that he had ever seen in the guise of a woman that
+could touch his heart?  He turned round with his back to the table
+and his face to the stove, and said nothing.  But he was able, when
+he no longer saw her, when her voice was not sounding in his ear, to
+swear that the thunderbolt should be hurled all the same.  His
+journey to Granpere should not be made for nothing.  'I must go
+now,' she said presently.  'I shall see you at supper, shall I not,
+George, when Uncle will be with us?  Uncle Michel will be so
+delighted to find you.  And you will tell us of the new doings at
+the hotel.  Good-bye for the present, George.'  Then she was gone
+before he had spoken another word.
+
+He eat his dinner, and smoked a cigar about the yard, and then said
+that he would go out and meet his father.  He did go out, but did
+not take the road by which he knew that his father was to be found.
+He strolled off to the ravine, and came back only when it was dark.
+The meeting between him and his father was kindly; but there was no
+special word spoken, and thus they all sat down to supper.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII.
+
+It became necessary as George Voss sat at supper with his father and
+Madame Voss that he should fix the time of his return to Colmar, and
+he did so for the early morning of the next day but one.  He had
+told Madame Faragon that he expected to stay at Granpere but one
+night.  He felt, however, after his arrival that it might be
+difficult for him to get away on the following day, and therefore he
+told them that he would sleep two nights at the Lion d'Or, and then
+start early, so as to reach the Colmar inn by mid-day.
+
+'I suppose you find the old lady rather fidgety, George?' said
+Michel Voss in high good humour.
+
+George found it easier to talk about Madame Faragon and the hotel at
+Colmar than he did of things at Granpere, and therefore became
+communicative as to his own affairs.  Michel too preferred the
+subject of the new doings at the house on the other side of the
+Vosges.  His wife had given him a slight hint, doing her best, like
+a good wife and discreet manager, to prevent ill-humour and hard
+words.
+
+'He feels a little sore, you know.  I was always sure there was
+something.  But it was wise of him to come and see her, and it will
+go off in this way.'
+
+Michel swore that George had no right to be sore, and that if his
+son did not take pride in such a family arrangement as this, he
+should no longer be son of his.  But he allowed himself to be
+counselled by his wife, and soon talked himself into a pleasant
+mood, discussing Madame Faragon, and the horses belonging to the
+Hotel de la Poste, and Colmar affairs in general.  There was a
+certain important ground for satisfaction between them.  Everybody
+agreed that George Voss had shown himself to be a steady man of
+business in the affairs of the inn at Colmar.
+
+Marie Bromar in the mean while went on with her usual occupation
+round the room, but now and again came and stood at her uncle's
+elbow, joining in the conversation, and asking a question or two
+about Madame Faragon.  There was, perhaps, something of the guile of
+the serpent joined to her dove-like softness.  She asked questions
+and listened to answers--not that in her present state of mind she
+could bring herself to take a deep interest in the affairs of Madame
+Faragon's hotel, but because it suited her that there should be some
+subject of easy conversation between her and George.  It was
+absolutely necessary now that George should be nothing more to her
+than a cousin and an acquaintance; but it was well that he should be
+that and not an enemy.  It would be well too that he should know,
+that he should think that he knew, that she was disturbed by no
+remembrance of those words which had once passed between them.  At
+last she trusted herself to a remark which perhaps she would not
+have made had the serpent's guile been more perfect of its kind.
+
+'Surely you must get a wife, George, as soon as the house is your
+own.'
+
+'Of course he will get a wife,' said the father.
+
+'I hope he will get a good one,' said Madame Voss after a short
+pause--which, however, had been long enough to make her feel it
+necessary to say something.
+
+George said never a word, but lifted his glass and finished his
+wine.  Marie at once perceived that the subject was one on which she
+must not venture to touch again.  Indeed, she saw farther than that,
+and became aware that it would be inexpedient for her to fall into
+any special or minute conversation with her cousin during his short
+stay at Granpere.
+
+'You'll go up to the woods with me tomorrow--eh, George?' said the
+father.  The son of course assented.  It was hardly possible that he
+should not assent.  The whole day, moreover, would not be wanted for
+that purpose of throwing his thunderbolt; and if he could get it
+thrown, it would be well that he should be as far away from Marie as
+possible for the remainder of his visit.  'We'll start early, Marie,
+and have a bit of breakfast before we go.  Will six be too early for
+you, George, with your town ways?'  George said that six would not
+be too early, and as he made the engagement for the morning he
+resolved that he would if possible throw his thunderbolt that night.
+'Marie will get us a cup of coffee and a sausage.  Marie is always
+up by that time.'
+
+Marie smiled, and promised that they should not be compelled to
+start upon their walk with empty stomachs from any fault of hers.
+If a hot breakfast at six o'clock in the morning could put her
+cousin into a good humour, it certainly should not be wanting.
+
+In two hours after supper George was with his father.  Michel was so
+full of happiness and so confidential that the son found it very
+difficult to keep silence about his own sorrow.  Had it not been
+that with a half obedience to his wife's hints Michel said little
+about Adrian, there must have been an explosion.  He endeavoured to
+confine himself to George's prospects, as to which he expressed
+himself thoroughly pleased.  'You see,' said he, 'I am so strong of
+my years, that if you wished for my shoes, there is no knowing how
+long you might be kept waiting.'
+
+'It couldn't have been too long,' said George.
+
+'Ah well, I don't believe you would have been impatient to put the
+old fellow under the sod.  But I should have been impatient, I
+should have been unhappy.  You might have had the woods, to be sure;
+but it's hardly enough of a business alone.  Besides, a young man is
+always more his own master away from his father.  I can understand
+that.  The only thing is, George,--take a drive over, and see us
+sometimes.'  This was all very well, but it was not quite so well
+when he began to speak of Marie.  'It's a terrible loss her going,
+you know, George; I shall feel it sadly.'
+
+'I can understand that,' said George.
+
+'But of course I had my duty to do to the girl.  I had to see that
+she should be well settled, and she will be well settled.  There's a
+comfort in that;--isn't there, George?'
+
+But George could not bring himself to reply to this with good-
+humoured zeal, and there came for a moment a cloud between the
+father and son.  But Michel was wise and swallowed his wrath, and in
+a minute or two returned to Colmar and Madame Faragon.
+
+At about half-past nine George escaped from his father and returned
+to the house.  They had been sitting in the balcony which runs round
+the billiard-room on the side of the court opposite to the front
+door.  He returned to the house, and caught Marie in one of the
+passages up-stairs, as she was completing her work for the day.  He
+caught her close to the door of his own room and asked her to come
+in, that he might speak a word to her.  English readers will perhaps
+remember that among the Vosges mountains there is less of a sense of
+privacy attached to bedrooms than is the case with us here in
+England.  Marie knew immediately then that her cousin had not come
+to Granpere for nothing,--had not come with the innocent intention
+of simply pleasing his father,--had not come to say an ordinary word
+of farewell to her before her marriage.  There was to be something
+of a scene, though she could not tell of what nature the scene might
+be.  She knew, however, that her own conduct had been right; and
+therefore, though she would have avoided the scene, had it been
+possible, she would not fear it.  She went into his room; and when
+he closed the door, she smiled, and did not as yet tremble.
+
+'Marie,' he said, 'I have come here on purpose to say a word or two
+to you.'  There was no smile on her face as he spoke now.  The
+intention to be savage was written there, as plainly as any purpose
+was ever written on man's countenance.  Marie read the writing
+without missing a letter.  She was to be rebuked, and sternly
+rebuked;--rebuked by the man who had taken her heart, and then left
+her;--rebuked by the man who had crushed her hopes and made it
+absolutely necessary for her to give up all the sweet poetry of her
+life, to forget her dreams, to abandon every wished-for prettiness
+of existence, and confine herself to duties and to things material!
+He who had so sinned against her was about to rid himself of the
+burden of his sin by endeavouring to cast it upon her.  So much she
+understood, but yet she did not understand all that was to come.
+She would hear the rebuke as quietly as she might.  In the interest
+of others she would do so.  But she would not fear him,--and she
+would say a quiet word in defence of her own sex if there should be
+need.  Such was the purport of her mind as she stood opposite to him
+in his room.
+
+'I hope they will be kind words,' she said.  'As we are to part so
+soon, there should be none unkind spoken.'
+
+'I do not know much about kindness,' he replied.  Then he paused and
+tried to think how best the thunderbolt might be hurled.  'There is
+hardly room for kindness where there was once so much more than
+kindness; where there was so much more,--or the pretence of it.'
+Then he waited again, as though he expected that she should speak.
+But she would not speak at all.  If he had aught to say, let him say
+it.  'Perhaps, Marie, you have in truth forgotten all the promises
+you once made me?'  Though this was a direct question she would not
+answer it.  Her words to him should be as few as possible, and the
+time for such words had not come as yet.  'It suits you no doubt to
+forget them now, but I cannot forget them.  You have been false to
+me, and have broken my heart.  You have been false to me, when my
+only joy on earth was in believing in your truth.  Your vow was for
+ever and ever, and within one short year you are betrothed to
+another man!  And why?--because they tell you that he is rich and
+has got a house full of furniture!  You may prove to be a blessing
+to his house.  Who can say?  On mine, you and your memory will be a
+curse,--lasting all my lifetime!'  And so the thunderbolt had been
+hurled.
+
+And it fell as a thunderbolt.  What she had expected had not been at
+all like to this.  She had known that he would rebuke her; but,
+feeling strong in her own innocence and her own purity, knowing or
+thinking that she knew that the fault had all been his, not
+believing--having got rid of all belief--that he still loved her,
+she had fancied that his rebuke would be unjust, cruel, but
+bearable.  Nay; she had thought that she could almost triumph over
+him with a short word of reply.  She had expected from him reproach,
+but not love.  There was reproach indeed, but it came with an
+expression of passion of which she had not known him to be capable.
+He stood before her telling her that she had broken his heart, and,
+as he told her so, his words were half choked by sobs.  He reminded
+her of her promises, declaring that his own to her had ever remained
+in full force.  And he told her that she, she to whom he had looked
+for all his joy, had become a curse to him and a blight upon his
+life.  There were thoughts and feelings too beyond all these that
+crowded themselves upon her heart and upon her mind at the moment.
+It had been possible for her to accept the hand of Adrian Urmand
+because she had become assured that George Voss no longer regarded
+her as his promised bride.  She would have stood firm against her
+uncle and her aunt, she would have stood against all the world, had
+it not seemed to her that the evidence of her cousin's indifference
+was complete.  Had not that evidence been complete at all points, it
+would have been impossible to her to think of becoming the wife of
+another man.  Now the evidence on that matter which had seemed to
+her to be so sufficient was all blown to the winds.
+
+It is true that had all her feelings been guided by reason only, she
+might have been as strong as ever.  In truth she had not sinned
+against him.  In truth she had not sinned at all.  She had not done
+that which she herself had desired.  She had not been anxious for
+wealth, or ease, or position; but had, after painful thought,
+endeavoured to shape her conduct by the wishes of others, and by her
+ideas of duty, as duty had been taught to her.  O, how willingly
+would she have remained as servant to her uncle, and have allowed M.
+Urmand to carry the rich gift of his linen-chest to the feet of some
+other damsel, had she believed herself to be free to choose!  Had
+there been no passion in her heart, she would now have known herself
+to be strong in duty, and would have been able to have answered and
+to have borne the rebuke of her old lover.  But passion was there,
+hot within her, aiding every word as he spoke it, giving strength to
+his complaints, telling her of all that she had lost, telling her of
+all she had taken from him.  She forgot to remember now that he had
+been silent for a year.  She forgot now to think of the tone in
+which he had asked about her marriage when no such marriage was in
+her mind.  But she remembered well the promise she had made, and the
+words of it.  'Your vow was for ever and ever.'  When she heard
+those words repeated from his lips, her heart too was broken.  All
+idea of holding herself before him as one injured but ready to
+forgive was gone from her.  If by falling at his feet and owning
+herself to be vile and mansworn she might get his pardon, she was
+ready now to lie there on the ground before him.
+
+'O George!' she said; 'O George!'
+
+'What is the use of that now?' he replied, turning away from her.
+He had thrown his thunderbolt, and he had nothing more to say.  He
+had seen that he had not thrown it quite in vain, and he would have
+been contented to be away and back at Colmar.  What more was there
+to be said?
+
+She came to him very gently, very humbly, and just touched his arm
+with her hand.  'Do you mean, George, that you have continued to
+care for me--always?'
+
+'Care for you?  I know not what you call caring.  Did I not swear to
+you that I would love you for ever and ever, and that you should be
+my own?  Did I not leave this house and go away,--till I could earn
+for you one that should be fit for you,--because I loved you?  Why
+should I have broken my word?  I do not believe that you thought
+that it was broken.'
+
+'By my God, that knows me, I did!'  As she said this she burst into
+tears and fell on her knees at his feet.
+
+'Marie,' he said, 'Marie;--there is no use in this.  Stand up.'
+
+'Not till you tell me that you will forgive me.  By the name of the
+good Jesus, who knows all our hearts, I thought that you had
+forgotten me.  O George, if you could know all!  If you could know
+how I have loved you; how I have sorrowed from day to day because I
+was forgotten!  How I have struggled to bear it, telling myself that
+you were away, with all the world to interest you, and not like me,
+a poor girl in a village, with no thing to think of but my lover!
+How I have striven to do my duty by my uncle, and have obeyed him,
+because,--because,--because, there was nothing left.  If you could
+know it all!  If you could know it all!'  Then she clasped her arms
+round his legs, and hid her face upon his feet.
+
+'And whom do you love now?' he asked.  She continued to sob, but did
+not answer him a word.  Then he stooped down and raised her to her
+feet, and she stood beside him, very near to him with her face
+averted.  'And whom do you love now?' he asked again.  'Is it me, or
+is it Adrian Urmand?'  But she could not answer him, though she had
+said enough in her passionate sorrow to make any answer to such a
+question unnecessary, as far as knowledge on the subject might be
+required.  It might suit his views that she should confess the truth
+in so many words, but for other purpose her answer had been full
+enough.  'This is very sad,' he said, 'sad indeed; but I thought
+that you would have been firmer.'
+
+'Do not chide me again, George.'
+
+'No;--it is to no purpose.'
+
+'You said that I was--a curse to you?'
+
+'O Marie, I had hoped,--I had so hoped, that you would have been my
+blessing!'
+
+'Say that I am not a curse to you, George!'
+
+But he would make no answer to this appeal, no immediate answer; but
+stood silent and stern, while she stood still touching his arm,
+waiting in patience for some word at any rate of forgiveness.  He
+was using all the powers of his mind to see if there might even yet
+be any way to escape this great shipwreck.  She had not answered his
+question.  She had not told him in so many words that her heart was
+still his, though she had promised her hand to the Basle merchant.
+But he could not doubt that it was so.  As he stood there silent,
+with that dark look upon his brow which he had inherited from his
+father, and that angry fire in his eye, his heart was in truth once
+more becoming soft and tender towards her.  He was beginning to
+understand how it had been with her.  He had told her, just now,
+that he did not believe her, when she assured him that she had
+thought that she was forgotten.  Now he did believe her.  And there
+arose in his breast a feeling that it was due to her that he should
+explain this change in his mind.  'I suppose you did think it,' he
+said suddenly.
+
+'Think what, George?'
+
+'That I was a vain, empty, false-tongued fellow, whose word was
+worth no reliance.'
+
+'I thought no evil of you, George,--except that you were changed to
+me.  When you came, you said nothing to me.  Do you not remember?'
+
+'I came because I was told that you were to be married to this man.
+I asked you the question, and you would not deny it.  Then I said to
+myself that I would wait and see.'  When he had spoken she had
+nothing farther to say to him.  The charges which he made against
+her were all true.  They seemed at least to be true to her then in
+her present mood,--in that mood in which all that she now desired
+was his forgiveness.  The wish to defend herself, and to stand
+before him as one justified, had gone from her.  She felt that
+having still possessed his love, having still been the owner of the
+one thing that she valued, she had ruined herself by her own doubts;
+and she could not forgive herself the fatal blunder.  'It is of no
+use to think of it any more,' he said at last.  'You have to become
+this man's wife now, and I suppose you must go through with it.'
+
+'I suppose I must,' she said; 'unless--'
+
+'Unless what?'
+
+'Nothing, George.  Of course I will marry him.  He has my word.  And
+I have promised my uncle also.  But, George, you will say that you
+forgive me?'
+
+'Yes;--I will forgive you.'  But still there was the same black
+cloud upon his face,--the same look of pain,--the same glance of
+anger in his eye.
+
+'O George, I am so unhappy!  There can be no comfort for me now,
+unless you will say that you will be contented.'
+
+'I cannot say that, Marie.'
+
+'You will have your house, and your business, and so many things to
+interest you.  And in time,--after a little time--'
+
+'No, Marie, after no time at all.  You told me at supper to-night
+that I had better get a wife for myself.  But I will get no wife.  I
+could not bring myself to marry another girl, I could not take a
+woman home as my wife if I did not love her.  If she were not the
+person of all persons most dear to me, I should loathe her.'
+
+He was speaking daggers to her, and he must have known how sharp
+were his words.  He was speaking daggers to her, and she must have
+felt that he knew how he was wounding her.  But yet she did not
+resent his usage, even by a motion of her lip.  Could she have
+brought herself to do so, her agony would have been less sharp.  'I
+suppose,' she said at last, 'that a woman is weaker than a man.  But
+you say that you will forgive me?'
+
+'I have forgiven you.'
+
+Then very gently she put out her hand to him, and he took it and
+held it for a minute.  She looked up at him as though for a moment
+she had thought that there might be something else,--that there
+might be some other token of true forgiveness, and then she withdrew
+her hand.  'I had better go now,' she said.  'Good-night; George.'
+
+'Good-night, Marie.'  And then she was gone.
+
+As soon as he was alone he sat himself down on the bedside, and
+began to think of it.  Everything was changed to him since he had
+called her into the room, determining that he would crush her with
+his thunderbolt.  Let things go as they may with a man in an affair
+of love, let him be as far as possible from the attainment of his
+wishes, there will always be consolation to him if he knows that he
+is loved.  To be preferred to all others, even though that
+preference may lead to no fruition, is in itself a thing enjoyable.
+He had believed that Marie had forgotten him,--that she had been
+captivated either by the effeminate prettiness of his rival, or by
+his wealth and standing in the world.  He believed all this no more.
+He knew now how it was with her and with him, and, let his
+countenance say what it might to the contrary, he could bring
+himself to forgive her in his heart.  She had not forgotten him!
+She had not ceased to love him!  There was merit in that which went
+far with him in excuse of her perfidy.
+
+But what should he do now?  She was not as yet married to Adrian
+Urmand.  Might there not still be hope; hope for her sake as well as
+for his own?  He perfectly understood that in his country--nay, for
+aught he knew to the contrary, in all countries--a formal betrothal
+was half a marriage.  It was half the ceremony in the eyes of all
+those concerned; but yet, in regard to that indissoluble bond which
+would indeed have divided Marie from him beyond the reach of any
+hope to the contrary, such betrothal was of no effect whatever.
+This man whom she did not love was not yet Marie's husband;--need
+never become so if Marie could only be sufficiently firm in
+resisting the influence of all her friends.  No priest could marry
+her without her own consent.  He--George--he himself would have to
+face the enmity of all those with whom he was connected.  He was
+sure that his father, having been a party to the betrothal, would
+never consent to a breach of his promise to Urmand.  Madame Voss,
+Madame Faragon, the priest, and their Protestant pastor would all be
+against them.  They would be as it were outcasts from their own
+family.  But George Voss, sitting there on his bedside, thought that
+he could go through it all, if only he could induce Marie Bromar to
+bear the brunt of the world's displeasure with him.  As he got into
+bed he determined that he would begin upon the matter to his father
+during the morning's walk.  His father would be full of wrath;--but
+the wrath would have to be endured sooner or later.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII.
+
+On the next morning Michel Voss and his son met in the kitchen, and
+found Marie already there.  'Well, my girl,' said Michel, as he
+patted Marie's shoulder, and kissed her forehead, 'you've been up
+getting a rare breakfast for these fellows, I see.'  Marie smiled,
+and made some good-humoured reply.  No one could have told by her
+face that there was anything amiss with her.  'It's the last favour
+of the kind he'll ever have at your hands,' continued Michel, 'and
+yet he doesn't seem to be half grateful.'  George stood with his
+back to the kitchen fire, and did not say a word.  It was impossible
+for him even to appear to be pleasant when such things were being
+said.  Marie was a better hypocrite, and, though she said little,
+was able to look as though she could sympathise with her uncle's
+pleasant mirth.  The two men had soon eaten their breakfast and were
+gone, and then Marie was left alone with her thoughts.  Would George
+say anything to his father of what had passed up-stairs on the
+previous evening?
+
+The two men started, and when they were alone together, and as long
+as Michel abstained from talking about Marie and her prospects,
+George was able to converse freely with his father.  When they left
+the house the morning was just dawning, and the air was fresh and
+sharp.  'We shall soon have the frost here now,' said Michel, 'and
+then there will be no more grass for the cattle.'
+
+'I suppose they can have them out on the low lands till the end of
+November.  They always used.'
+
+'Yes; they can have them out; but having them out and having food
+for them are different things.  The people here have so much stock
+now, that directly the growth is checked by the frost, the land
+becomes almost bare.  They forget the old saying--"Half stocking,
+whole profits; whole stocking, half profits!"  And then, too, I
+think the winters are earlier here than they used to be.  They'll
+have to go back to the Swiss plan, I fancy, and carry the food to
+the cattle in their houses.  It may be old-fashioned, as they say;
+but I doubt whether the fodder does not go farther so.'  Then as
+they began to ascend the mountain, he got on to the subject of his
+own business and George's prospects.  'The dues to the Commune are
+so heavy,' he said, 'that in fact there is little or nothing to be
+made out of the timber.  It looks like a business, because many men
+are employed, and it's a kind of thing that spreads itself, and
+bears looking at.  But it leaves nothing behind.'
+
+'It's not quite so bad as that, I hope,' said George.
+
+'Upon my word then it is not much better, my boy.  When you've
+charged yourself with interest on the money spent on the mills,
+there is not much to boast about.  You're bound to replant every
+yard you strip, and yet the Commune expects as high a rent as when
+there was no planting to be done at all.  They couldn't get it, only
+that men like myself have their money in the mills, and can't well
+get out of the trade.'
+
+'I don't think you'd like to give it up, father.'
+
+'Well, no.  It gives me exercise and something to do.  The women
+manage most of it down at the house; but there must be a change when
+Marie has gone.  I have hardly looked it in the face yet, but I know
+there must be a change.  She has grown up among it till she has it
+all at her fingers' ends.  I tell you what, George, she is a girl in
+a hundred,--a girl in a hundred.  She is going to marry a rich man,
+and so it don't much signify; but if she married a poor man, she
+would be as good as a fortune to him.  She'd make a fortune for any
+man.  That's my belief.  There is nothing she doesn't know, and
+nothing she doesn't understand.'
+
+Why did his father tell him all this?  George thought of the day on
+which his father had, as he was accustomed to say to himself, turned
+him out of the house because he wanted to marry this girl who was
+'as good as a fortune' to any man.  Had he, then, been imprudent in
+allowing himself to love such a girl?  Could there be any good
+reason why his father should have wished that a 'fortune,' in every
+way so desirable, should go out of the family?  'She'll have nothing
+to do of that sort if she goes to Basle,' said George moodily.
+
+'That is more than you can say,' replied his father.  'A woman
+married to a man of business can always find her share in it if she
+pleases.  And with such a one as Adrian Urmand her side of the house
+will not be the least considerable.'
+
+'I suppose he is little better than a fool,' said George.
+
+'A fool!  He is not a fool at all.  If you were to see him buying,
+you would not call him a fool.  He is very far from a fool.'
+
+'It may be so.  I do not know much of him myself.'
+
+'You should not be so prone to think men fools till you find them
+so; especially those who are to be so near to yourself.  No;--he's
+not a fool by any means.  But he will know that he has got a clever
+wife, and he will not be ashamed to make use of her.'
+
+George was unwilling to contradict his father at the present moment,
+as he had all but made up his mind to tell the whole story about
+himself and Marie before he returned to the house.  He had not the
+slightest idea that by doing so he would be able to soften his
+father's heart.  He was sure, on the contrary, that were he to do
+so, he and his father would go back to the hotel as enemies.  But he
+was quite resolved that the story should be told sooner or later,--
+should be told before the day fixed for the wedding.  If it was to
+be told by himself, what occasion could be so fitting as the
+present?  But, if it were to be done on this morning, it would be
+unwise to harass his father by any small previous contradictions.
+
+They were now up among the scattered prostrate logs, and had again
+taken up the question of the business of wood-cutting.  'No, George;
+it would never have done for you; not as a mainstay.  I thought of
+giving it up to you once, but I knew that it would make a poor man
+of you.'
+
+'I wish you had,' said George, who was unable to repress the feeling
+of his heart.
+
+'Why do you say that?  What a fool you must be if you think it!
+There is nothing you may not do where you are, and you have got it
+all into your own hands, with little or no outlay.  The rent is
+nothing; and the business is there ready made for you.  In your
+position, if you find the hotel is not enough, there is nothing you
+cannot take up.'  They had now seated themselves on the trunk of a
+pine tree; and Michel Voss having drawn a pipe from his pocket and
+filled it, was lighting it as he sat upon the wood.  'No, my boy,'
+he continued, 'you'll have a better life of it than your father, I
+don't doubt.  After all, the towns are better than the country.
+There is more to be seen and more to be learned.  I don't complain.
+The Lord has been very good to me.  I've had enough of everything,
+and have been able to keep my head up.  But I feel a little sad when
+I look forward.  You and Marie will both be gone; and your
+stepmother's friend, M. le Cure Gondin, does not make much society
+for me.  I sometimes think, when I am smoking a pipe up here all
+alone, that this is the best of it all;--it will be when Marie has
+gone.'  If his father thus thought of it, why did he send Marie
+away?  If he thus thought of it, why had he sent his son away?  Had
+it not already been within his power to keep both of them there
+together under his roof-tree?  He had insisted on dividing them, and
+dismissing them from Granpere, one in one direction, and the other
+in another;--and then he complained of being alone!  Surely his
+father was altogether unreasonable.  'And now one can't even get
+tobacco that is worth smoking,' continued Michel, in a melancholy
+tone.  'There used to be good tobacco, but I don't know where it has
+all gone.'
+
+'I can send you over a little prime tobacco from Colmar, father.'
+
+'I wish you would, George.  This is foul stuff.  But I sometimes
+think I'll give it up.  What's the use of it?  A man sits and smokes
+and smokes, and nothing comes of it.  It don't feed him, nor clothe
+him, and it leaves nothing behind,--except a stink.'
+
+'You're a little down in the mouth, father, or you wouldn't talk of
+giving up smoking.'
+
+'I am down in the mouth,--terribly down in the mouth.  Till it was
+all settled, I did not know how much I should feel Marie's going.
+Of course it had to be, but it makes an old man of me.  There will
+be nothing left.  Of course there's your stepmother,--as good a
+woman as ever lived,--and the children; but Marie was somehow the
+soul of us all.  Give us another light, George.  I'm blessed if I
+can keep the fire in the pipe at all.'
+
+'And this,' thought George, 'is in truth the state of my father's
+mind!  There are three of us concerned who are all equally dear to
+each other, my father, myself, and Marie Bromar.  There is not one
+of them who doesn't feel that the presence of the others is
+necessary to his happiness.  Here is my father declaring that the
+world will no longer have any savour for him because I am away in
+one place, and Marie is to be away in another.  There is not the
+slightest real reason on earth why we should have been separated.
+Yet he,--he alone has done it; and we,--we are to break our hearts
+over it!  Or rather he has not done it.  He is about to do it.  The
+sacrifice is not yet made, and yet it must be made, because my
+father is so unreasonable that no one will dare to point out to him
+where lies the way to his own happiness and to the happiness of
+those he loves!'  It was thus that George Voss thought of it as he
+listened to his father's wailings.
+
+But he himself, though he was hot in temper, was slow, or at least
+deliberate, in action.  He did not even now speak out at once.  When
+his father's pipe was finished he suggested that they should go on
+to a certain run for the fir-logs, which he himself--George Voss--
+had made--a steep grooved inclined plane by which the timber when
+cut in these parts could be sent down with a rush to the close
+neighbourhood of the saw-mill below.  They went and inspected the
+slide, and discussed the question of putting new wood into the
+groove.  Michel, with the melancholy tone that had prevailed with
+him all the morning, spoke of matters as though any money spent in
+mending would be thrown away.  There are moments in the lives of
+most of us in which it seems to us that there will never be more
+cakes and ale.  George, however, talked of the children, and
+reminded his father that in matters of business nothing is so
+ruinous as ruin.  'If you've got to get your money out of a thing,
+it should always be in working order,' he said.  Michel acknowledged
+the truth of the rule, but again declared that there was no money to
+be got out of the thing.  He yielded, however, and promised that the
+repairs should be made.  Then they went down to the mill, which was
+going at that time.  George, as he stood by and watched the man and
+boy adjusting the logs to the cradle, and listened to the apparently
+self-acting saw as it did its work, and observed the perfection of
+the simple machinery which he himself had adjusted, and smelt the
+sweet scent of the newly-made sawdust, and listened to the music of
+the little stream, when, between whiles, the rattle of the mill
+would cease for half a minute,--George, as he stood in silence,
+looking at all this, listening to the sounds, smelling the perfume,
+thinking how much sweeter it all was than the little room in which
+Madame Faragon sat at Colmar, and in which it was, at any rate for
+the present, his duty to submit his accounts to her, from time to
+time,--resolved that he would at once make an effort.  He knew his
+father's temper well.  Might it not be that though there should be a
+quarrel for a time, everything would come right at last?  As for
+Adrian Urmand, George did not believe,--or told himself that he did
+not believe,--that such a cur as he would suffer much because his
+hopes of a bride were not fulfilled.
+
+They stayed for an hour at the saw-mill, and Michel, in spite of all
+that he had said about tobacco, smoked another pipe.  While they
+were there, George, though his mind was full of other matter,
+continued to give his father practical advice about the business--
+how a new wheel should be supplied here, and a lately invented
+improvement introduced there.  Each of them at the moment was care-
+laden with special thoughts of his own, but nevertheless, as men of
+business, they knew that the hour was precious and used it.  To
+saunter into the woods and do nothing was not at all in accordance
+with Michel's usual mode of life; and though he hummed and hawed,
+and doubted and grumbled, he took a note of all his son said, and
+was quite of a mind to make use of his son's wit.
+
+'I shall be over at Epinal the day after tomorrow,' he said as they
+left the mill, 'and I'll see if I can get the new crank there.'
+
+'They'll be sure to have it at Heinman's,' said George, as they
+began to descend the hill.  From the spot on which they had been
+standing the walk down to Granpere would take them more than an
+hour.  It might well be that they might make it an affair of two or
+three hours, if they went up to other timber-cuttings on their
+route; but George was sure that as soon as he began to tell his
+story his father would make his way straight for home.  He would be
+too much moved to think of his timber, and too angry to desire to
+remain a minute longer than he could help in company with his son.
+Looking at all the circumstances as carefully as he could, George
+thought that he had better begin at once.  'As you feel Marie's
+going so much,' he said, 'I wonder that you are so anxious to send
+her away.'
+
+'That's a poor argument, George, and one that I should not have
+expected from you.  Am I to keep her here all her life, doing no
+good for herself, simply because I like to have her here?  It is in
+the course of things that she should be married, and it is my duty
+to see that she marries well.'
+
+'That is quite true, father.'
+
+'Then why do you talk to me about sending her away?  I don't send
+her away.  Urmand comes and takes her away.  I did the same when I
+was young.  Now I'm old, and I have to be left behind.  It's the way
+of nature.'
+
+'But she doesn't want to be taken away,' said George, rushing at
+once at his subject.
+
+'What do you mean by that?'
+
+'Just what I say, father.  She consents to be taken away, but she
+does not wish it.'
+
+'I don't know what you mean.  Has she been talking to you?  Has she
+been complaining?'
+
+'I have been talking to her.  I came over from Colmar when I heard
+of this marriage on purpose that I might talk to her.  I had at any
+rate a right to do that.'
+
+'Right to do what?  I don't know that you have any right.  If you
+have been trying to do mischief in my house, George, I will never
+forgive you--never.'
+
+'I will tell you the whole truth, father; and then you shall say
+yourself whether I have been trying to do mischief, and shall say
+also whether you will forgive me.  You will remember when you told
+me that I was not to think of Marie Bromar for myself.'
+
+'I do remember.'
+
+'Well; I had thought of her.  If you wanted to prevent that, you
+were too late.'
+
+'You were boys and girls together; that is all.'
+
+'Let me tell my story, father, and then you shall judge.  Before you
+had spoken to me at all, Marie had given me her troth.'
+
+'Nonsense!'
+
+'Let me at least tell my story.  She had done so, and I had given
+her mine; and when you told me to go, I went, not quite knowing then
+what it might be best that we should do, but feeling very sure that
+she would at least be true to me.'
+
+'Truth to any such folly as that would be very wicked.'
+
+'At any rate, I did nothing.  I remained there month after month;
+meaning to do something when this was settled,--meaning to do
+something when that was settled; and then there came a sort of
+rumour to me that Marie was to be Urmand's wife.  I did not believe
+it, but I thought that I would come and see.'
+
+'It was true.'
+
+'No;--it was not true then.  I came over, and was very angry because
+she was cold to me.  She would not promise that there should be no
+such engagement; but there was none then.  You see I will tell you
+everything as it occurred.'
+
+'She is at any rate engaged to Adrian Urmand now, and for all our
+sakes you are bound not to interfere.'
+
+'But yet I must tell my story.  I went back to Colmar, and then,
+after a while, there came tidings, true tidings, that she was
+engaged to this man.  I came over again yesterday, determined,--you
+may blame me if you will, father, but listen to me,--determined to
+throw her falsehood in her teeth.'
+
+'Then I will protect her from you,' said Michel Voss, turning upon
+his son as though he meant to strike him with his staff.
+
+'Ah, father,' said George, pausing and standing opposite to the
+innkeeper, 'but who is to protect her from you?  If I had found that
+that which you are doing was making her happy,--I would have spoken
+my mind indeed; I would have shown her once, and once only, what she
+had done to me; how she had destroyed me,--and then I would have
+gone, and troubled none of you any more.'
+
+'You had better go now, and bring us no more trouble.  You are all
+trouble.'
+
+'But her worst trouble will still cling to her.  I have found that
+it is so.  She has taken this man not because she loves him, but
+because you have bidden her.'
+
+'She has taken him, and she shall marry him.'
+
+'I cannot say that she has been right, father; but she deserves no
+such punishment as that.  Would you make her a wretched woman for
+ever, because she has done wrong in striving to obey you?'
+
+'She has not done wrong in striving to obey me.  She has done right.
+I do not believe a word of this.'
+
+'You can ask her yourself.'
+
+'I will ask her nothing,--except that she shall not speak to you any
+farther about it.  You have come here wilfully-minded to disturb us
+all.'
+
+'Father, that is unjust.'
+
+'I say it is true.  She was contented and happy before you came.
+She loves the man, and is ready to marry him on the day fixed.  Of
+course she will marry him.  You would not have us go back from our
+word now?'
+
+'Certainly I would.  If he be a man, and she tells him that she
+repents,--if she tells him all the truth, of course he will give her
+back her troth.  I would do so to any woman that only hinted that
+she wished it.'
+
+'No such hint shall be given.  I will hear nothing of it.  I shall
+not speak to Marie on the subject,--except to desire her to have no
+farther converse with you.  Nor will I speak of it again to
+yourself; unless you wish me to bid you go from me altogether, you
+will not mention the matter again.'  So saying, Michel Voss strode
+on, and would not even turn his eyes in the direction of his son.
+He strode on, making his way down the hill at the fastest pace that
+he could achieve, every now and then raising his hat and wiping the
+perspiration from his brow.  Though he had spoken of Marie's
+departure as a loss that would be very hard to bear, the very idea
+that anything should be allowed to interfere with the marriage which
+he had planned was unendurable.  What;--after all that had been said
+and done, consent that there should be no marriage between his niece
+and the rich young merchant!  Never.  He did not stop for a moment
+to think how much of truth there might be in his son's statement.
+He would not even allow himself to remember that he had forced
+Adrian Urmand as a suitor upon his niece.  He had had his qualms of
+conscience upon that matter,--and it was possible that they might
+return to him.  But he would not stop now to look at that side of
+the question.  The young people were betrothed.  The marriage was a
+thing settled, and it should be celebrated.  He had never broken his
+faith to any man, and he would not break it to Adrian Urmand.  He
+strode on down the mountain, and there was not a word more said
+between him and his son till they reached the inn doors.  'You
+understand me,' he said then.  'Not a word more to Marie.'  After
+that he went up at once to his wife's chamber, and desired that
+Marie might be sent to him there.  During his rapid walk home he had
+made up his mind as to what he would do.  He would not be severe to
+his niece.  He would simply ask her one question.
+
+'My dear,' he said, striving to be calm, but telling her by his
+countenance as plainly as words could have done all that had passed
+between him and his son,--'Marie, my dear, I take it for--granted--
+there is nothing to--to--to interrupt our plans.'
+
+'In what way, uncle?' she asked, merely wanting to gain a moment for
+thought.
+
+'In any way.  In no way.  Just say that there is nothing wrong, and
+that will be sufficient.'  She stood silent, not having a word to
+say to him.  'You know what I mean, Marie.  You intend to marry
+Adrian Urmand?'
+
+'I suppose so,' said Marie in a low whisper.
+
+'Look here, Marie,--if there be any doubt about it, we will part,--
+and for ever.  You shall never look upon my face again.  My honour
+is pledged,--and yours.'  Then he hurried out of the room, down into
+the kitchen, and without staying there a moment went out into the
+yard, and walked through to the stables.  His passion had been so
+strong and uncontrollable, that he had been unable to remain with
+his niece and exact a promise from her.
+
+George, when he saw his father go through to the stables, entered
+the house.  He had already made up his mind that he would return at
+once to Colmar, without waiting to have more angry words.  Such
+words would serve him not at all.  But he must if possible see
+Marie, and he must also tell his stepmother that he was about to
+depart.  He found them both together, and at once, very abruptly,
+declared that he was to start immediately.
+
+'You have quarrelled with your father, George,' said Madame Voss.
+
+'I hope not.  I hope that he has not quarrelled with me.  But it is
+better that I should go.'
+
+'What is it, George?  I hope it is nothing serious.'  Madame Voss as
+she said this looked at Marie, but Marie had turned her face away.
+George also looked at her, but could not see her countenance.  He
+did not dare to ask her to give him an interview alone; nor had he
+quite determined what he would say to her if they were together.
+'Marie,' said Madame Voss, 'do you know what this is about?'
+
+'I wish I had died,' said Marie, 'before I had come into this house.
+I have made hatred and bitterness between those who should love each
+other better than all the world!'  Then Madame Voss was able to
+guess what had been the cause of the quarrel.
+
+'Marie,' said George very slowly, 'if you will only ask your own
+heart what you ought to do, and be true to what it tells you, there
+is no reason even yet that you should be sorry that you came to
+Granpere.  But if you marry a man whom you do not love, you will sin
+against him, and against me, and against yourself, and against God!'
+Then he took up his hat and went out.
+
+In the courtyard he met his father.
+
+'Where are you going now, George?' said his father.
+
+'To Colmar.  It is better that I should go at once.  Good-bye,
+father;' and he offered his hand to his parent.
+
+'Have you spoken to Marie?'
+
+'My mother will tell you what I have said.  I have spoken nothing in
+private.'
+
+'Have you said anything about her marriage?'
+
+'Yes.  I have told her that she could not honestly marry the man she
+did not love.'
+
+'What right have you, sir,' said Michel, nearly choked with wrath,
+'to interfere in the affairs of my household?  You had better go,
+and go at once.  If you return again before they are married, I will
+tell the servants to put you off the place!'  George Voss made no
+answer, but having found his horse and his gig, drove himself off to
+Colmar.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV.
+
+George Voss, as he drove back to Colmar and thought of what had been
+done during the last twenty-four hours, did not find that he had
+much occasion for triumph.  He had, indeed, the consolation of
+knowing that the girl loved him, and in that there was a certain
+amount of comfort.  As he had ever been thinking about her since he
+had left Granpere, so also had she been thinking of him.  His father
+had told him that they had been no more than children when they
+parted, and had ridiculed the idea that any affection formed so long
+back and at so early an age should have lasted.  But it had lasted;
+and was now as strong in Marie's breast as it was in his own.  He
+had learned this at any rate by his journey to Granpere, and there
+was something of consolation in the knowledge.  But, nevertheless,
+he did not find that he could triumph.  Marie had been weak enough
+to yield to his father once, and would yield to him, he thought, yet
+again.  Women in this respect--as he told himself--were different
+from men.  They were taught by the whole tenor of their lives to
+submit,--unless they could conquer by underhand unseen means, by
+little arts, by coaxing, and by tears.  Marie, he did not doubt, had
+tried all these, and had failed.  His father's purpose had been too
+strong for her, and she had yielded.  Having submitted once, of
+course she would submit again.  There was about his father a spirit
+of masterfulness, which he was sure Marie would not be able to
+withstand.  And then there would be--strong against his interests,
+George thought--that feeling so natural to a woman, that as all the
+world had been told of her coming marriage, she would be bound to go
+through with it.  The idea of it had become familiar to her.  She
+had conquered the repugnance which she must at first have felt, and
+had made herself accustomed to regard this man as her future
+husband.  And then there would be Madame Voss against him, and M. le
+Cure,--both of whom would think it infinitely better for Marie's
+future welfare, that she should marry a Roman Catholic, as was
+Urmand, than a Protestant such as was he, George Voss.  And then the
+money!  Even if he could bring himself to believe that the money was
+nothing to Marie, it would be so much to all those by whom Marie
+would be surrounded, that it would be impossible that she should be
+preserved from its influence.
+
+It is not often that young people really know each other; but George
+certainly did not know Marie Bromar.  In the first place, though he
+had learned from her the secret of her heart, he had not taught
+himself to understand how his own sullen silence had acted upon her.
+He knew now that she had continued to love him; but he did not know
+how natural it had been that she should have believed that he had
+forgotten her.  He could not, therefore, understand how different
+must now be her feelings in reference to this marriage with Adrian,
+from what they had been when she had believed herself to be utterly
+deserted.  And then he did not comprehend how thoroughly unselfish
+she had been;--how she had struggled to do her duty to others, let
+the cost be what it might to herself.  She had plighted herself to
+Adrian Urmand, not because there had seemed to her to be any
+brightness in the prospect which such a future promised to her, but
+because she did verily believe that, circumstanced as she was, it
+would be better that she should submit herself to her friends.  All
+this George Voss did not understand.  He had thrown his thunderbolt,
+and had seen that it had been efficacious.  Its efficacy had been
+such that his wrath had been turned into tenderness.  He had been so
+changed in his purpose, that he had been induced to make an appeal
+to his father at the cost of his father's enmity.  But that appeal
+had been in vain, and, as he thought of it all, he told himself that
+on the appointed day Marie Bromar would become the wife of Adrian
+Urmand.  He knew well enough that a girl betrothed is a girl already
+half married.
+
+He was very wretched as he drove his horse along.  Though there was
+a solace in the thought that the memory of him had still remained in
+Marie's heart, there was a feeling akin to despair in this also.
+His very tenderness towards her was more unendurable than would have
+been his wrath.  The pity of it!  The pity of it!  It was that which
+made him sore of heart and faint of spirit.  If he could have
+reproached her as cold, mercenary, unworthy, heartless, even though
+he had still loved her, he could have supported himself by his anger
+against her unworthiness.  But as it was there was no such support
+for him.  Though she had been in fault, her virtue towards him was
+greater than her fault.  She still loved him.  She still loved him,-
+-though she could not be his wife.
+
+Then he thought of Adrian Urmand and of the man's success and
+wealth, and general prosperity in the world.  What if he should go
+over to Basle and take Adrian Urmand by the throat and choke him?
+What if he should at least half choke the successful man, and make
+it well understood that the other half would come unless the
+successful man would consent to relinquish his bride?  George,
+though he did not expect success for himself, was fully purposed
+that Urmand should not succeed without some interference from him,--
+by means of choking or otherwise.  He would find some way of making
+himself disagreeable.  If it were only by speaking his mind, he
+thought that he could speak it in such a way that the Basle merchant
+would not like it.  He would tell Urmand in the first place that
+Marie was won not at all by affection, not in the least by any
+personal regard for her suitor, but altogether by a feeling of duty
+towards her uncle.  And he would point out to this suitor how
+dastardly a thing it would be to take advantage of a girl so placed.
+He planned a speech or two as he drove along which he thought that
+even Urmand, thick-skinned as he believed him to be, would dislike
+to hear.  'You may have her, perhaps,' he would say to him, 'as so
+much goods that you would buy, because she is, as a thing in her
+uncle's hands, to be bought.  She believes it to be her duty, as
+being altogether dependent, to be disposed of as her uncle may
+choose.  And she will go to you, as she would to any other man who
+might make the purchase.  But as for loving you, you don't even
+believe that she loves you.  She will keep your house for you; but
+she will never love you.  She will keep your house for you,--unless,
+indeed, she should find you to be so intolerable to her, that she
+should be forced to leave you.  It is in that way that you will have
+her,--if you are so low a thing as to be willing to take her so.'
+He planned various speeches of such a nature--not intending to trust
+entirely to speeches, but to proceed to some attempt at choking
+afterwards if it should be necessary.  Marie Bromar should not
+become Adrian Urmand's wife without some effort on his part.  So
+resolving, he drove into the yard of the hotel at Colmar.
+
+As soon as he entered the house Madame Faragon began to ask him
+questions about the wedding.  When was it to be?  George thought for
+a moment, and then remembered that he had not even heard the day
+named.
+
+'Why don't you answer me, George?' said the old woman angrily.  'You
+must know when it's going to be.'
+
+'I don't know that it's going to be at all,' said George.
+
+'Not going to be at all!  Why not?  There is not anything wrong, is
+there?  Were they not betrothed?  Why don't you tell me, George?'
+
+'Yes; they were betrothed.'
+
+'And is he crying off?  I should have thought Michel Voss was the
+man to strangle him if he did that.'
+
+'And I am the man to strangle him if he don't,' said George, walking
+out of the room.
+
+He knew that he had been silly and absurd, but he knew also that he
+was so moved as to have hardly any control over himself.  In the few
+words that he had now said to Madame Faragon he had, as he felt,
+told the story of his own disappointment; and yet he had not in the
+least intended to take the old woman into his confidence.  He had
+not meant to have said a word about the quarrel between himself and
+his father, and now he had told everything.
+
+When she saw him again in the evening, of course she asked him some
+farther questions.
+
+'George,' she said, 'I am afraid things are not going pleasantly at
+Granpere.'
+
+'Not altogether,' he answered.
+
+'But I suppose the marriage will go on?'  To this he made no answer,
+but shook his head, showing how impatient he was at being thus
+questioned.  'You ought to tell me,' said Madame Faragon
+plaintively, 'considering how interested I must be in all that
+concerns you.'
+
+'I have nothing to tell.'
+
+'But is the marriage to be put off?' again demanded Madame Faragon,
+with extreme anxiety.
+
+'Not that I know of, Madame Faragon:  they will not ask me whether
+it is to be put off or not.'
+
+'But have they quarrelled with M. Urmand?'
+
+'No; nobody has quarrelled with M. Urmand.'
+
+'Was he there, George?'
+
+'What, with me!  No; he was not there with me.  I have never seen
+the man since I first left Granpere to come here.'  And then George
+Voss began to think what might have happened had Adrian Urmand been
+at the hotel while he was there himself.  After all, what could he
+have said to Adrian Urmand? or what could he have done to him?
+
+'He hasn't written, has he, to say that he is off his bargain?'
+Poor Madame Faragon was almost pathetic in her anxiety to learn what
+had really occurred at the Lion d'Or.
+
+'Certainly not.  He has not written at all.'
+
+'Then what is it, George?'
+
+'I suppose it is this,--that Marie Bromar cares nothing for him.'
+
+'But so rich as he is!  And they say, too, such a good-looking young
+man.'
+
+'It is wonderful, is it not?  It is next to a miracle that there
+should be a girl deaf and blind to such charms.  But, nevertheless,
+I believe it is so.  They will probably make her marry him, whether
+she likes it or not.'
+
+'But she is betrothed to him.  Of course she will marry him.'
+
+'Then there will be an end of it,' said George.
+
+There was one other question which Madame Faragon longed to ask; but
+she was almost too much afraid of her young friend to put it into
+words.  At last she plucked up courage, and did ask her question
+after an ambiguous way.
+
+'But I suppose it is nothing to you, George?'
+
+'Nothing at all.  Nothing on earth,' said he.  'How should it be
+anything to me?'  Then he hesitated for a while, pausing to think
+whether or not he would tell the truth to Madame Faragon.  He knew
+that there was no one on earth, setting aside his father and Marie
+Bromar, to whom he was really so dear as he was to this old woman.
+She would probably do more for him, if it might possibly be in her
+power to do anything, than any other of his friends.  And, moreover,
+he did not like the idea of being false to her, even on such a
+subject as this.  'It is only this to me,' he said, 'that she had
+promised to be my wife, before they had ever mentioned Urmand's name
+to her.'
+
+'O, George!'
+
+'And why should she not have promised?'
+
+'But, George;--during all this time you have never mentioned it.'
+
+'There are some things, Madame Faragon, which one doesn't mention.
+And I do not know why I should have mentioned it at all.  But you
+understand all about it now.  Of course she will marry the man.  It
+is not likely that my father should fail to have his own way with a
+girl who is dependent on him.'
+
+'But he--M. Urmand; he would give her up if he knew it all, would he
+not?'
+
+To this George made no instant answer; but the idea was there, in
+his mind--that the linen merchant might perhaps be induced to
+abandon his purpose, if he could be made to understand that Marie
+wished it.  'If he have any touch of manhood about him he would do
+so,' said he.
+
+'And what will you do, George?'
+
+'Do!  I shall do nothing.  What should I do?  My father has turned
+me out of the house.  That is the whole of it.  I do not know that
+there is anything to be done.'  Then he went out, and there was
+nothing more said upon the question.  For the next three or four
+days there was nothing said.  As he went in and out Madame Faragon
+would look at him with anxious eyes, questioning herself how far
+such a feeling of love might in truth make this young man forlorn
+and wretched.  As far as she could judge by his manner he was very
+forlorn and very wretched.  He did his work indeed, and was busy
+about the place, as was his wont.  But there was a look of pain in
+his face, which made her old heart grieve, and by degrees her good
+wishes for the object, which seemed to be so much to him, became
+eager and hot.
+
+'Is there nothing to be done?' she asked at last, putting out her
+fat hand to take hold of his in sympathy.
+
+'There is nothing to be done,' said George, who, however, hated
+himself because he was doing nothing, and still thought occasionally
+of that plan of choking his rival.
+
+'If you were to go to Basle and see the man?'
+
+'What could I say to him, if I did see him?  After all, it is not
+him that I can blame.  I have no just ground of quarrel with him.
+He has done nothing that is not fair.  Why should he not love her if
+it suits him?  Unless he were to fight me, indeed--'
+
+'O, George! let there be no fighting.'
+
+'It would do no good, I fear.'
+
+'None, none, none,' said she.
+
+'If I were to kill him, she could not be my wife then.'
+
+'No, no; certainly not.'
+
+'And if I wounded him, it would make her like him perhaps.  If he
+were to kill me, indeed, there might be some comfort in that.'
+
+After this Madame Faragon made no farther suggestions that her young
+friend should go to Basle.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV.
+
+During the remainder of the day on which George had left Granpere,
+the hours did not fly very pleasantly at the Lion d'Or.  Michel Voss
+had gone to his niece immediately upon his return from his walk,
+intending to obtain a renewed pledge from her that she would be true
+to her engagement.  But he had been so full of passion, so beside
+himself with excitement, so disturbed by all that he had heard, that
+he had hardly waited with Marie long enough to obtain such pledge,
+or to learn from her that she refused to give it.  He had only been
+able to tell her that if she hesitated about marrying Adrian she
+should never look upon his face again; and then without staying for
+a reply he had left her.  He had been in such a tremor of passion
+that he had been unable to demand an answer.  After that, when
+George was gone, he kept away from her during the remainder of the
+morning.  Once or twice he said a few words to his wife, and she
+counselled him to take no farther outward notice of anything that
+George had said to him.  'It will all come right if you will only be
+a little calm with her,' Madame Voss had said.  He had tossed his
+head and declared that he was calm;--the calmest man in all
+Lorraine.  Then he had come to his wife again, and she had again
+given him some good practical advice.  'Don't put it into her head
+that there is to be a doubt,' said Madame Voss.
+
+'I haven't put it into her head,' he answered angrily.
+
+'No, my dear, no; but do not allow her to suppose that anybody else
+can put it there either.  Let the matter go on.  She will see the
+things bought for her wedding, and when she remembers that she has
+allowed them to come into the house without remonstrating, she will
+be quite unable to object.  Don't give her an opportunity of
+objecting.'  Michel Voss again shook his head, as though his wife
+were an unreasonable woman, and swore that it was not he who had
+given Marie such opportunity.  But he made up his mind to do as his
+wife recommended.  'Speak softly to her, my dear,' said Madame Voss.
+
+'Don't I always speak softly?' said he, turning sharply round upon
+his spouse.
+
+He made his attempt to speak softly when he met Marie about the
+house just before supper.  He put his hand upon her shoulder, and
+smiled, and murmured some word of love.  He was by no means crafty
+in what he did.  Craft indeed was not the strong point of his
+character.  She took his rough hand and kissed it, and looked up
+lovingly, beseechingly into his face.  She knew that he was asking
+her to consent to the sacrifice, and he knew that she was imploring
+him to spare her.  This was not what Madame Voss had meant by
+speaking softly.  Could she have been allowed to dilate upon her own
+convictions, or had she been able adequately to express her own
+ideas, she would have begged that there might be no sentiment, no
+romance, no kissing of hands, no looking into each other's faces,--
+no half-murmured tones of love.  Madame Voss believed strongly that
+the every-day work of the world was done better without any of these
+glancings and glimmerings of moonshine.  But then her husband was,
+by nature, of a fervid temperament, given to the influence of
+unexpressed poetic emotions;--and thus subject, in spite of the
+strength of his will, to much weakness of purpose.  Madame Voss
+perhaps condemned her husband in this matter the more because his
+romantic disposition never showed itself in his intercourse with
+her.  He would kiss Marie's hand, and press Marie's wrist, and hold
+dialogues by the eye with Marie.  But with his wife his speech was,-
+-not exactly yea, yea, and nay, nay,--but yes, yes, and no, no.  It
+was not unnatural therefore that she should specially dislike this
+weakness of his which came from his emotional temperament.  'I would
+just let things go, as though there were nothing special at all,'
+she said again to him, before supper, in a whisper.
+
+'And so I do.  What would you have me say?'
+
+'Don't mind petting her, but just be as you would be any other day.'
+
+'I am as I would be any other day,' he replied.  However, he knew
+that his wife was right, and was in a certain way aware that if he
+could only change himself and be another sort of man, he might
+manage the matter better.  He could be fiercely angry, or
+caressingly affectionate.  But he was unable to adopt that safe and
+golden mean, which his wife recommended.  He could not keep himself
+from interchanging a piteous glance or two with Marie at supper, and
+put a great deal too much unction into his caress to please Madame
+Voss, when Marie came to kiss him before she went to bed.
+
+In the mean time Marie was quite aware that it was incumbent on her
+to determine what she would do.  It may be as well to declare at
+once that she had determined--had determined fully, before her uncle
+and George had started for their walk up to the wood-cutting.  When
+she was giving them their breakfast that morning her mind was fully
+made up.  She had had the night to lie awake upon it, to think it
+over, and to realise all that George had told her.  It had come to
+her as quite a new thing that the man whom she worshipped,
+worshipped her too.  While she believed that nobody else loved her;-
+-when she could tell herself that her fate was nothing to anybody;--
+as long as it had seemed to her that the world for her must be cold,
+and hard, and material;--so long could she reconcile to herself,
+after some painful, dubious fashion, the idea of being the wife
+either of Adrian Urmand, or of any other man.  Some kind of
+servitude was needful, and if her uncle was decided that she must be
+banished from his house, the kind of servitude which was proposed to
+her at Basle would do as well as another.  But when she had learned
+the truth,--a truth so unexpected,--then such servitude became
+impossible to her.  On that morning, when she came down to give the
+men their breakfast, she had quite determined that let the
+consequences be what they might she would never become the wife of
+Adrian Urmand.  Madame Voss had told her husband that when Marie saw
+the things purchased for her wedding coming into the house, the very
+feeling that the goods had been bought would bind her to her
+engagement.  Marie had thought of that also, and was aware that she
+must lose no time in making her purpose known, so that articles
+which would be unnecessary might not be purchased.  On that very
+morning, while the men had been up in the mountain, she had sat with
+her aunt hemming sheets;--intended as an addition to the already
+overflowing stock possessed by M. Urmand.  It was with difficulty
+that she had brought herself to do that,--telling herself, however,
+that as the linen was there, it must be hemmed; when there had come
+a question of marking the sheets, she had evaded the task,--not
+without raising suspicion in the bosom of Madame Voss.
+
+But it was, as she knew, absolutely necessary that her uncle should
+be informed of her purpose.  When he had come to her after the walk,
+and demanded of her whether she still intended to marry Adrian
+Urmand, she had answered him falsely.  'I suppose so,' she had said.
+The question--such a question as it was--had been put to her too
+abruptly to admit of a true answer on the spur of the moment.  But
+the falsehood almost stuck in her throat and was a misery to her
+till she could set it right by a clear declaration of the truth.
+She had yet to determine what she would do;--how she would tell this
+truth; in what way she would insure to herself the power of carrying
+out her purpose.  Her mind, the reader must remember, was somewhat
+dark in the matter.  She was betrothed to the man, and she had
+always heard that a betrothal was half a marriage.  And yet she knew
+of instances in which marriages had been broken off after betrothal
+quite as ceremonious as her own--had been broken off without scandal
+or special censure from the Church.  Her aunt, indeed, and M. le
+Cure had, ever since the plighting of her troth to M. Urmand, spoken
+of the matter in her presence, as though the wedding were a thing
+already nearly done;--not suggesting by the tenor of their speech
+that any one could wish in any case to make a change, but pointing
+out incidentally that any change was now out of the question.  But
+Marie had been sharp enough to understand perfectly the gist of her
+aunt's manoeuvres and of the priest's incidental information.  The
+thing could be done, she know; and she feared no one in the doing of
+it,--except her uncle.  But she did fear that if she simply told him
+that it must be done, he would have such a power over her that she
+would not succeed.  In what way could she do it first, and then tell
+him afterwards?
+
+At last she determined that she would write a letter to M. Urmand,
+and show a copy of the letter to her uncle when the post should have
+taken it so far out of Granpere on its way to Basle, as to make it
+impossible that her uncle should recall it.  Much of the day after
+George's departure, and much of the night, was spent in the
+preparation of this letter.  Marie Bromar was not so well practised
+in the writing of letters as will be the majority of the young
+ladies who may, perhaps, read her history.  It was a difficult thing
+for her to begin the letter, and a difficult thing for her to bring
+it to its end.  But the letter was written and sent.  The post left
+Granpere at about eight in the morning, taking all letters by way of
+Remiremont; and on the day following George's departure, the post
+took Marie Bromar's letter to M. Urmand.
+
+When it was gone, her state of mind was very painful.  Then it was
+necessary that she should show the copy to her uncle.  She had
+posted the letter between six and seven with her own hands, and had
+then come trembling back to the inn, fearful that her uncle should
+discover what she had done before her letter should be beyond his
+reach.  When she saw the mail conveyance go by on its route to
+Remiremont, then she knew that she must begin to prepare for her
+uncle's wrath.  She thought that she had heard that the letters were
+detained some time at Remiremont before they went on to Epinal in
+one direction, and to Mulhouse in the other.  She looked at the
+railway time-table which was hung up in one of the passages of the
+inn, and saw the hour of the departure of the diligence from
+Remiremont to catch the train at Mulhouse for Basle.  When that hour
+was passed, the conveyance of her letter was insured, and then she
+must show the copy to her uncle.  He came into the house about
+twelve, and eat his dinner with his wife in the little chamber.
+Marie, who was in and out of the room during the time, would not sit
+down with them.  When pressed to do so by her uncle, she declared
+that she had eaten lately and was not hungry.  It was seldom that
+she would sit down to dinner, and this therefore gave rise to no
+special remark.  As soon as his meal was over, Michel Voss got up to
+go out about his business, as was usual with him.  Then Marie
+followed him into the passage.  'Uncle Michel,' she said, 'I want to
+speak to you for a moment; will you come with me?'
+
+'What is it about, Marie?'
+
+'If you will come, I will show you.'
+
+'Show me!  What will you show me?'
+
+'It's a letter, Uncle Michel.  Come up-stairs and you shall see it.'
+Then he followed her up-stairs, and in the long public room, which
+was at that hour deserted, she took out of her pocket the copy of
+her letter to Adrian Urmand, and put it into her uncle's hands.  'It
+is a letter, Uncle Michel, which I have written to M. Urmand.  It
+went this morning, and you must see it.'
+
+'A letter to Urmand,' he said, as he took the paper suspiciously
+into his hands.
+
+'Yes, Uncle Michel.  I was obliged to write it.  It is the truth,
+and I was obliged to let him know it.  I am afraid you will be angry
+with me, and--turn me away; but I cannot help it.'
+
+The letter was as follows:
+
+                          'The Hotel Lion d'Or, Granpere,
+                                         October 1, 186-.
+
+'M. URMAND,
+
+'I take up my pen in great sorrow and remorse to write you a letter,
+and to prevent you from coming over here for me, as you intended, on
+this day fortnight.  I have promised to be your wife, but it cannot
+be.  I know that I have behaved very badly, but it would be worse if
+I were to go on and deceive you.  Before I knew you I had come to be
+fond of another man; and I find now, though I have struggled hard to
+do what my uncle wishes, that I could not promise to love you and be
+your wife.  I have not told Uncle Michel yet, but I shall as soon as
+this letter is gone.
+
+'I am very, very sorry for the trouble I have given you.  I did not
+mean to be bad.  I hope that you will forget me, and try to forgive
+me.  No one knows better than I do how bad I have been.
+
+'Your most humble servant,
+        'With the greatest respect,
+                       'MARIE BROMAR.'
+
+The letter had taken her long to write, and it took her uncle long
+to read, before he came to the end of it.  He did not get through a
+line without sundry interruptions, which all arose from his
+determination to contradict at once every assertion which she made.
+'You cannot prevent his coming,' he said, 'and it shall not be
+prevented.'  'Of course, you have promised to be his wife, and it
+must be.'  'Nonsense about deceiving him.  He is not deceived at
+all.'  'Trash--you are not fond of another man.  It is all
+nonsense.'  'You must do what your uncle wishes.  You must, now! you
+must!  Of course, you will love him.  Why can't you let all that
+come as it does with others?'  'Letter gone;--yes indeed, and now I
+must go after it.'  'Trouble!--yes!  Why could you not tell me
+before you sent it?  Have I not always been good to you?'  'You have
+not been bad; not before.  You have been very good.  It is this that
+is bad.'  'Forget you indeed.  Of course he won't.  How should he?
+Are you not betrothed to him?  He'll forgive you fast enough, when
+you just say that you did not know what you were about when you were
+writing it.'  Thus her uncle went on; and as the outburst of his
+wrath was, as it were, chopped into little bits by his having to
+continue the reading of the letter, the storm did not fall upon
+Marie's head so violently as she had expected.  'There's a pretty
+kettle of fish you've made!' said he as soon as he had finished
+reading the letter.  'Of course, it means nothing.'
+
+'But it must mean something, Uncle Michel.'
+
+'I say it means nothing.  Now I'll tell you what I shall do, Marie.
+I shall start for Basle directly.  I shall get there by twelve
+o'clock to-night by going through Colmar, and I shall endeavour to
+intercept the letter before Urmand would receive it to-morrow.'
+This was a cruel blow to Marie after all her precautions.  'If I
+cannot do that, I shall at any rate see him before he gets it.  That
+is what I shall do; and you must let me tell him, Marie, that you
+repent having written the letter.'
+
+'But I don't repent it, Uncle Michel; I don't, indeed.  I can't
+repent it.  How can I repent it when I really mean it?  I shall
+never become his wife;--indeed I shall not.  O, Uncle Michel, pray,
+pray, pray do not go to Basle!'
+
+But Michel Voss resolved that he would go to Basle, and to Basle he
+went.  The immediate weight, too, of Marie's misery was aggravated
+by the fact that in order to catch the train for Basle at Colmar,
+her uncle need not start quite immediately.  There was an hour
+during which he could continue to exercise his eloquence upon his
+niece, and endeavour to induce her to authorise him to contradict
+her own letter.  He appealed first to her affection, and then to her
+duty; and after that, having failed in these appeals, he poured
+forth the full vials of his wrath upon her head.  She was
+ungrateful, obstinate, false, unwomanly, disobedient, irreligious,
+sacrilegious, and an idiot.  In the fury of his anger, there was
+hardly any epithet of severe rebuke which he spared, and yet, as
+every cruel word left his mouth, he assured her that it should all
+be taken to mean nothing, if she would only now tell him that he
+might nullify the letter.  Though she had deserved all these bad
+things which he had spoken of her, yet she should be regarded as
+having deserved none of them, should again be accepted as having in
+all points done her duty, if she would only, even now, be obedient.
+But she was not to be shaken.  She had at last formed a resolution,
+and her uncle's words had no effect towards turning her from it.
+'Uncle Michel,' she said at last, speaking with much seriousness of
+purpose, and a dignity of person that was by no means thrown away
+upon him, 'if I am what you say, I had better go away from your
+house.  I know I have been bad.  I was bad to say that I would marry
+M. Urmand.  I will not defend myself.  But nothing on earth shall
+make me marry him.  You had better let me go away, and get a place
+as a servant among our friends at Epinal.'  But Michel Voss, though
+he was heaping abuse upon her with the hope that he might thus
+achieve his purpose, had not the remotest idea of severing the
+connection which bound him and her together.  He wanted to do her
+good, not evil.  She was exquisitely dear to him.  If she would only
+let him have his way and provide for her welfare as he saw, in his
+wisdom, would be best, he would at once take her in his arms again
+and tell her that she was the apple of his eye.  But she would not;
+and he went at last off on his road to Colmar and Basle, gnashing
+his teeth in anger.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI.
+
+Nothing was said to Marie about her sins on that afternoon after her
+uncle had started on his journey.  Everything in the hotel was
+blank, and sad, and gloomy; but there was, at any rate, the negative
+comfort of silence, and Marie was allowed to go about the house and
+do her work without rebuke.  But she observed that the Cure--M. le
+Cure Gondin--sat much with her aunt during the evening, and she did
+not doubt but that she herself and her iniquities made the subject
+of their discourse.
+
+M. le Cure Gondin, as he was generally called at Granpere,--being
+always so spoken of, with his full name and title, by the large
+Protestant portion of the community,--was a man very much respected
+by all the neighbourhood.  He was respected by the Protestants
+because he never interfered with them, never told them, either
+behind their backs or before their faces, that they would be damned
+as heretics, and never tried the hopeless task of converting them.
+In his intercourse with them he dropped the subject of religion
+altogether,--as a philologist or an entomologist will drop his
+grammar or his insects in his intercourse with those to whom grammar
+and insects are matters of indifference.  And he was respected by
+the Catholics of both sorts,--by those who did not and by those who
+did adhere with strictness to the letter of their laws of religion.
+With the former he did his duty, perhaps without much enthusiasm.
+He preached to them, if they would come and listen to him.  He
+christened them, confessed them, and absolved them from their sins,-
+-of course, after due penitence.  But he lived with them, too, in a
+friendly way, pronouncing no anathemas against them, because they
+were not as attentive to their religious exercises as they might
+have been.  But with those who took a comfort in sacred things, who
+liked to go to early masses in cold weather, to be punctual at
+ceremonies, to say the rosary as surely as the evening came, who
+knew and performed all the intricacies of fasting as ordered by the
+bishop, down to the refinement of an egg more or less, in the whole
+Lent, or the absence of butter from the day's cookery,--with these
+he had all that enthusiasm which such people like to encounter in
+their priest.  We may say, therefore, that he was a wise man,--and
+probably, on the whole, a good man; that he did good service in his
+parish, and helped his people along in their lives not
+inefficiently.  He was a small man, with dark hair very closely cut,
+with a tonsure that was visible but not more than visible; with a
+black beard that was shaved every Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday
+evenings, but which was very black indeed on the Tuesday and Friday
+mornings.  He always wore the black gown of his office, but would go
+about his parish with an ordinary soft slouch hat,--thus subjecting
+his appearance to an absence of ecclesiastical trimness which,
+perhaps, the most enthusiastic of his friends regretted.  Madame
+Voss certainly would have wished that he would have had himself
+shaved at any rate every other day, and that he would have abstained
+from showing himself in the streets of Granpere without his clerical
+hat.  But, though she was very intimate with her Cure, and had
+conferred upon him much material kindness, she had never dared to
+express her opinion to him upon these matters.
+
+During much of that afternoon M. le Cure sat with Madame Voss, but
+not a word was said to Marie about her disobedience either by him or
+by her.  Nevertheless, Marie felt that her sins were being
+discussed, and that the lecture was coming.  She herself had never
+quite liked M. le Cure--not having any special reason for disliking
+him, but regarding him as a man who was perhaps a little deficient
+in spirit, and perhaps a trifle too mindful of his creature
+comforts.  M. le Cure took a great deal of snuff, and Marie did not
+like snuff taking.  Her uncle smoked a great deal of tobacco, and
+that she thought very nice and proper in a man.  Had her uncle taken
+the snuff and the priest smoked the tobacco, she would probably have
+equally approved of her uncle's practice and disapproved that of the
+priest;--because she loved the one and did not love the other.  She
+had thought it probable that she might be sent for during the
+evening, and had, therefore, made for herself an immensity of
+household work, the performance of all which on that very evening
+the interests of the Lion d'Or would imperatively demand.  The work
+was all done, but no message from Aunt Josey summoned Marie into the
+little parlour.
+
+Nevertheless Marie had been quite right in her judgment.  On the
+following morning, between eight and nine, M. le Cure was again in
+the house, and had a cup of coffee taken to him in the little
+parlour.  Marie, who felt angry at his return, would not take it
+herself, but sent it in by the hands of Peter Veque.  Peter Veque
+returned in a few minutes with a message to Marie, saying that M. le
+Cure wished to see her.
+
+'Tell him that I am very busy,' said Marie.  'Say that uncle is
+away, and that there is a deal to do.  Ask him if another day won't
+suit as well.'
+
+She knew when she sent this message that another day would not suit
+as well.  And she must have known also that her uncle's absence made
+no difference in her work.  Peter came back with a request from
+Madame Voss that Marie would go to her at once.  Marie pressed her
+lips together, clenched her fists, and walked down into the room
+without the delay of an instant.
+
+'Marie, my dear,' said Madame Voss, 'M. le Cure wishes to speak to
+you.  I will leave you for a few minutes.'  There was nothing for it
+but to listen.  Marie could not refuse to be lectured by the priest.
+But she told herself that having had the courage to resist her
+uncle, it certainly was out of the question that any one else should
+have the power to move her.
+
+'My dear Marie,' began the Cure, 'your aunt has been telling me of
+this little difference between you and your affianced husband.
+Won't you sit down, Marie, because we shall be able so to talk more
+comfortably?'
+
+'I don't want to talk about it at all,' said Marie.  But she sat
+down as she was bidden.
+
+'But, my dear, it is needful that your friends should talk to you.
+I am sure that you have too much sense to think that a young woman
+like yourself should refuse to hear her friends.'  Marie had it
+almost on her tongue to tell the priest that the only friends to
+whom she chose to listen were her uncle and her aunt, but she
+thought that it might perhaps be better that she should remain
+silent.  'Of course, my dear, a young person like you must know that
+she must walk by advice, and I am sure you must feel that no one can
+give it you more fittingly than your own priest.'  Then he took a
+large pinch of snuff.
+
+'If it were anything to do with the Church,--yes,' she said.
+
+'And this has to do with the Church, very much.  Indeed I do not
+know how any of our duties in this life cannot have to do with the
+Church.  There can be no duty omitted as to which you would not
+acknowledge that it was necessary that you should get absolution
+from your priest.'
+
+'But that would be in the church,' said Marie, not quite knowing how
+to make good her point.
+
+'Whether you are in the church or out of it, is just the same.  If
+you were sick and in bed, would your priest be nothing to you then?'
+
+'But I am quite well, Father Gondin.'
+
+'Well in health; but sick in spirit,--as I am sure you must own.
+And I must explain to you, my dear, that this is a matter in which
+your religious duty is specially in question.  You have been
+betrothed, you know, to M. Urmand.'
+
+'But people betrothed are very often not married,' said Marie
+quickly.  'There was Annette Lolme at Saint Die.  She was betrothed
+to Jean Stein at Pugnac.  That was only last winter.  And then there
+was something wrong about the money; and the betrothal went for
+nothing, and Father Carrier himself said it was all right.  If it
+was all right for Annette Lolme, it must be all right for me as far
+as betrothing goes.'
+
+The story that Marie told so clearly was perfectly true, and M. le
+Cure Gondin knew that it was true.  He wished now to teach Marie
+that if certain circumstances should occur after a betrothal which
+would make the marriage inexpedient in the eyes of the parents of
+the young people, then the authority of the Church would not exert
+itself to insist on the sacred nature of the pledge;--but that if
+the pledge was to be called in question simply at the instance of a
+capricious young woman, then the Church would have full power.  His
+object, in short, was to insist on parental authority, giving to
+parental authority some little additional strength from his own
+sacerdotal recognition of the sanctity of the betrothing promise.
+But he feared that Marie would be too strong for him, if not also
+too clear-headed.  'You cannot mean to tell me,' said he, 'that you
+think such a solemn promise as you have given to this young man,
+taking one from him as solemn in return, is to go for nothing?'
+
+'I am very sorry that I promised,--very sorry indeed; but I cannot
+keep my promise.'
+
+'You are bound to keep it, especially as all your friends wish the
+marriage, and think that it will be good for you.  Annette Lolme's
+friends wished her not to marry.  It is my duty to tell you, Marie,
+that if you break your faith to M. Urmand, you will commit a very
+grievous sin, and you will commit it with your eyes open.'
+
+'If Annette Lolme might change her mind because her lover had not
+got as much money as people wanted, I am sure I may change mine
+because I don't love a man.'
+
+'Annette did what her friends advised her.'
+
+'Then a girl must always do what her friends tell her?  If I don't
+marry M. Urmand, I sha'n't be wicked for breaking my promise, but
+for disobeying Uncle Michel.'
+
+'You will be wicked in every way,' said the priest.
+
+'No, M. le Cure.  If I had married M. Urmand, I know I should be
+wicked to leave him, and I would do my best to live with him and
+make him a good wife.  But I have found out in time that I can't
+love him; and therefore I am sure that I ought not to marry him, and
+I won't.'
+
+There was much more said between them, but M. le Cure Gondin was not
+able to prevail in the least.  He tried to cajole her, and he tried
+to persuade by threats, and he tried to conquer her by gratitude and
+affection towards her uncle.  But he could not prevail at all.
+
+'It is of no use my staying here any longer, M. le Cure,' she said
+at last, 'because I am quite sure that nothing on earth will induce
+me to consent.  I am very sorry for what I have done.  If you tell
+me that I have sinned, I will repent and confess it.  I have
+repented, and am very, very sorry.  I know now that I was very wrong
+ever to think it possible that I could be his wife.  But you can't
+make me think that I am wrong in this.'
+
+Then she left him, and as soon as she was gone, Madame Voss returned
+to hear the priest's report as to his success.
+
+In the mean time, Michel Voss had reached Basle, arriving there some
+five hours before Marie's letter, and, in his ignorance of the law,
+had made his futile attempt to intercept the letter before it
+reached the hands of M. Urmand.  But he was with Urmand when the
+letter was delivered, and endeavoured to persuade his young friend
+not to open it.  But in doing this he was obliged to explain, to a
+certain extent, what was the nature of the letter.  He was obliged
+to say so much about it as to justify the unhappy lover in asserting
+that it would be better for them all that he should know the
+contents.  'At any rate, you will promise not to believe it,' said
+Michel.  And he did succeed in obtaining from M. Urmand a sort of
+promise that he would not regard the words of the letter as in truth
+expressing Marie's real resolution.  'Girls, you know, are such
+queer cattle,' said Michel.  'They think about all manner of things,
+and then they don't know what they are thinking.'
+
+'But who is the other man?' demanded Adrian, as soon as he had
+finished the letter.  Any one judging from his countenance when he
+asked the question would have imagined that in spite of his promise
+he believed every word that had been written to him.  His face was a
+picture of blank despair, and his voice was low and hoarse.  'You
+must know whom she means,' he added, when Michel did not at once
+reply.
+
+'Yes; I know whom she means.'
+
+'Who is it then, M. Voss?'
+
+'It is George, of course,' replied the innkeeper.
+
+'I did not know,' said poor Adrian Urmand.
+
+'She never spoke a dozen words to any other man in her life, and as
+for him, she has hardly seen him for the last eighteen months.  He
+has come over and said something to her, like a traitor,--has
+reminded her of some childish promise, some old vow, something said
+when they were children, and meaning nothing; and so he has
+frightened her.'
+
+'I was never told that there was anything between them,' said
+Urmand, beginning to think that it would become him to be indignant.
+
+'There was nothing to tell,--literally nothing.'
+
+'They must have been writing to each other.'
+
+'Never a line; on my word as a man.  It was just as I tell you.
+When George went from home, there had been some fooling, as I
+thought, between them; and I was glad that he should go.  I didn't
+think it meant anything, or ever would.'  As Michel Voss said this,
+there did occur to him an idea that perhaps, after all, he had been
+wrong to interfere in the first instance,--that there had then been
+no really valid reason why George should not have married Marie
+Bromar; but that did not in the least influence his judgment as to
+what it might be expedient to do now.  He was still as sure as ever
+that as things stood now, it was his duty to do all in his power to
+bring about the marriage between his niece and Adrian Urmand.  'But
+since that, there has been nothing,' continued he, 'absolutely
+nothing.  Ask her, and she will tell you so.  It is some romantic
+idea of hers that she ought to stick to her first promise, now that
+she has been reminded of it.'
+
+All this did not convince Adrian Urmand, who for a while expressed
+his opinion that it would be better for him to take Marie's refusal,
+and thus to let the matter drop.  It would be very bitter to him,
+because all Basle had now heard of his proposed marriage, and a
+whole shower of congratulations had already fallen upon him from his
+fellow-townspeople:  but he thought that it would be more bitter to
+be rejected again in person by Marie Bromar, and then to be stared
+at by all the natives of Granpere.  He acknowledged that George Voss
+was a traitor; and would have been ready to own that Marie was
+another, had Michel Voss given him any encouragement in that
+direction.  But Michel throughout the whole morning,--and they were
+closeted together for hours,--declared that poor Marie was more
+sinned against than sinning.  If Adrian was but once more over at
+Granpere, all would be made right.  At last Michel Voss prevailed,
+and persuaded the young man to return with him to the Lion d'Or.
+
+They started early on the following morning, and travelled to
+Granpere by way of Colmar and the mountain.  The father thus passed
+twice through Colmar, but on neither occasion did he call upon his
+son.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII.
+
+There had been very little said between Michel Voss and Urmand on
+their journey towards Granpere till they were at the top of the
+Vosges, on the mountain road, at which place they had to leave their
+little carriage and bait their horse.  Indeed Michel had been asleep
+during almost the entire time.  On the night but one before he had
+not been in bed at all, having reached Basle after midnight, and
+having passed the hours 'twixt that and his morning visit to
+Urmand's house in his futile endeavours to stop poor Marie's letter.
+And the departure of the travellers from Basle on this morning had
+been very early, so that the poor innkeeper had been robbed of his
+proper allowance of natural rest.  He had slept soundly in the train
+to Colmar, and had afterwards slept in the little caleche which had
+taken them to the top of the mountain.  Urmand had sat silent by his
+side,--by no means anxious to disturb his companion, because he had
+no determined plan ready to communicate.  Once or twice before he
+reached Colmar he had thought that he would go back again.  He had
+been, he felt, badly treated; and, though he was very fond of Marie,
+it would be better for him perhaps to wash his hands of the whole
+affair.  He was so thinking the whole way to Colmar.  But he was
+afraid of Michel Voss, and when they got out upon the platform
+there, he had no resolution ready to be declared as fixed.  Then
+they had hired the little carriage, and Michel Voss had slept again.
+He had slept all through Munster, and up the steep mountain, and was
+not thoroughly awake till they were summoned to get out at the
+wonderfully fine house for refreshment which the late Emperor caused
+to be built at the top of the hill.  Here they went into the
+restaurant, and as Michel Voss was known to the man who kept it, he
+ordered a bottle of wine.  'What a terrible place to live in all the
+winter!' he said, as he looked down through the window right into
+the deep valley below.  From the spot on which the house is built
+you can see all the broken wooded ground of the steep descent, and
+then the broad plain that stretches away to the valley of the Rhine.
+'There is nothing but snow here after Christmas,' continued Michel,
+'and perhaps not a Christian over the road for days together.  I
+shouldn't like it, I know.  It may be all very well just now.'
+
+But Adrian Urmand was altogether inattentive either to the scenery
+now before him, or to the prospect of the mountain innkeeper's
+winter life.  He knew that two hours and a half would take them down
+the mountain into Granpere, and that when there, it would be at once
+necessary that he should begin a task the idea of which was by no
+means pleasant to him.  He was quite sure now that he wished he had
+remained at Basle, and that he had accepted Marie's letter as final.
+He told himself again and again that he could not make her marry him
+if she chose to change her mind.  What was he to say, and what was
+he to do when he got to Granpere, a place which he almost wished
+that he had never seen in spite of those profitable linen-buyings?
+And now when Michel Voss began to talk to him about the scenery, and
+what this man up in the mountain did in the winter,--at this moment
+when his terrible trouble was so very near him,--he felt it to be an
+insult, or at least a cruelty.  'What can he do from December till
+April except smoke and drink?' asked Michel Voss.
+
+'I don't care what he does,' said Urmand, turning away.  'I only
+know I wish I'd never come here.'
+
+'Take a glass of wine, my friend,' said Michel.  'The mountain air
+has made you chill.'  Urmand took the glass of wine, but it did not
+cheer him much.  'We shall have it all right before the day is
+over,' continued Michel.
+
+'I don't think it will ever be all right,' said the other.
+
+'And why not?  The fact is, you don't understand young women; as how
+should you, seeing that you have not had to manage them?  You do as
+I tell you, and just be round with her.  You tell her that you don't
+desire any change yourself, and that after what has passed you can't
+allow her to think of such a thing.  You speak as though you had a
+downright claim, as you have; and all will come right.  It's not
+that she cares for him, you know.  You must remember that.  She has
+never even said a word of that kind.  I haven't a doubt on my mind
+as to which she really likes best; but it's that stupid promise, and
+the way that George has had of making her believe that she is bound
+by the first word she ever spoke to a young man.  It's only
+nonsense, and of course we must get over it.'  Then they were
+summoned out, the horse having finished his meal, and were rattled
+down the hill into Granpere without many more words between them.
+
+One other word was spoken, and that word was hardly pleasant in its
+tone.  Urmand at least did not relish it.  'I shall go away at once
+if she doesn't treat me as she ought,' said he, just as they were
+entering the village.
+
+Michel was silent for a moment before he answered.  'You'll behave,
+I'm sure, as a man ought to behave to a young woman whom he intends
+to make his wife.'  The words themselves were civil enough; but
+there was a tone in the innkeeper's voice and a flame in his eye,
+which made Urmand almost feel that he had been threatened.  Then
+they drove into the space in front of the door of the Lion d'Or.
+
+Michel had made for himself no plan whatsoever.  He led the way at
+once into the house, and Urmand followed, hardly daring to look up
+into the faces of the persons around him.  They were both of them
+soon in the presence of Madame Voss, but Marie Bromar was not there.
+Marie had been sharp enough to perceive who was coming before they
+were out of the carriage, and was already ensconced in some safer
+retreat up-stairs, in which she could meditate on her plan of the
+campaign.  'Look lively, and get us something to eat,' said Michel,
+meaning to be cheerful and self-possessed.  'We left Basle at five,
+and have not eaten a mouthful since.'  It was now nearly four
+o'clock, and the bread and cheese which had been served with the
+wine on the top of the mountain had of course gone for nothing.
+Madame Voss immediately began to bustle about, calling the cook and
+Peter Veque to her assistance.  But nothing for a while was said
+about Marie.  Urmand, trying to look as though he were self-
+possessed, stood with his back to the stove, and whistled.  For a
+few minutes, during which the bustling about the table went on,
+Michel was wrapped in thought, and said nothing.  At last he had
+made up his mind, and spoke:  'We might as well make a dash at it at
+once,' said he.  'Where is Marie?'  No one answered him.  'Where is
+Marie Bromar?' he asked again, angrily.  He knew that it behoved him
+now to take upon himself at once the real authority of a master of a
+house.
+
+'She is up-stairs,' said Peter, who was straightening a table-cloth.
+
+'Tell her to come down to me,' said her uncle.  Peter departed
+immediately, and for a while there was silence in the little room.
+Adrian Urmand felt his heart to palpitate disagreeably.  Indeed, the
+manner in which it would appear that the innkeeper proposed to
+manage the business was distressing enough to him.  It seemed as
+though it were intended that he should discuss his little
+difficulties with Marie in the presence of the whole household.  But
+he stood his ground, and sounded one more ineffectual little
+whistle.  In a few minutes Peter returned, but said nothing.  'Where
+is Marie Bromar?' again demanded Michel in an angry voice.
+
+'I told her to come down,' said Peter.
+
+'Well?'
+
+'I don't think she's coming,' said Peter.
+
+'What did she say?'
+
+'Not a word; she only bade me go down.'  Then Michel walked into the
+kitchen as though he were about to fetch the recusant himself.  But
+he stopped himself, and asked his wife to go up to Marie.  Madame
+Voss did go up, and after her return there was some whispering
+between her and her husband.  'She is upset by the excitement of
+your return,' Michel said at last; 'and we must give her a little
+grace.  Come, we will eat our dinner.'
+
+In the mean time Marie was sitting on her bed up-stairs in a most
+unhappy plight.  She really loved her uncle, and almost feared him.
+She did fear him with that sort of fear which is produced by
+reverence and habits of obedience, but which, when softened by
+affection, hardly makes itself known as fear, except on troublous
+occasions.  And she was oppressed by the remembrance of all that was
+due from her to him and to her aunt, feeling, as it was natural that
+she should do, in compliance with the manners and habits of her
+people, that she owed a duty of obedience in this matter of
+marriage.  Though she had been able to hold her own against the
+priest, and had been quite firm in opposition to her aunt,--who was
+in truth a woman much less strong by nature than herself,--she
+dreaded a farther dispute with her uncle.  She could not bear to
+think that he should be enabled to accuse her with justice of
+ingratitude.  It had been her great pleasure to be true to him, and
+he had answered her truth by a perfect confidence which had given a
+charm to her life.  Now this would all be over, and she would be
+driven again to beg him to send her away, that she might become a
+household drudge elsewhere.  And now that this very moment of her
+agony had come, and that this man to whom she had given a promise
+was there to claim her, how was she to go down and say what she had
+to say, before all the world?  It was perfectly clear to her that in
+accordance with her reception of Urmand at the first moment of their
+meeting, so must be her continued conduct towards him, till he
+should leave her, or else take her away with him.  She could not
+smile on him and shake hands with him, and cut his bread for him and
+pour out his wine, after such a letter as she had written to him,
+without signifying thereby that the letter was to go for nothing.
+Now, let what might happen, the letter was not to go for nothing.
+The letter was to remain a true fact, and a true letter.  'I can't
+go down, Aunt Josey; indeed I can't,' she said.  'I am not well, and
+I should drop.  Pray tell Uncle Michel, with my best love and with
+my duty, that I can't go to him now.'  And she sat still upon her
+bed, not weeping, but clasping her hands, and trying to see her way
+out of her misfortune.
+
+The dinner was eaten in grim silence, and after the dinner Michel,
+still grimly silent, sat with his friend on the bench before the
+door and smoked a cigar.  While he was smoking, Michel said never a
+word.  But he was thinking of the difficulty he had to overcome; and
+he was thinking also, at odd moments, whether his own son George was
+not, after all, a better sort of lover for a young woman than this
+young man who was seated by his side.  But it never occurred to him
+that he might find a solution of the difficulty by encouraging this
+second idea.  Urmand, during this time, was telling himself that it
+behoved him to be a man, and that his sitting there in silence was
+hardly proof of his manliness.  He knew that he was being ill-
+treated, and that he must do something to redress his own wrongs, if
+he only knew how to do it.  He was quite determined that he would
+not be a coward; that he would stand up for his own rights.  But if
+a young woman won't marry a man, a man can't make her do so, either
+by scolding her, or by fighting any of her friends.  In this case
+the young lady's friends were all on his side.  But the weight of
+that half hour of silence and of Michel's gloom was intolerable to
+him.  At last he got up and declared he would go and see an old
+woman who would have linen to sell.  'As I am here, I might as well
+do a stroke of work,' he said, striving to be jocose.
+
+'Do,' said Michel; 'and in the mean time I will see Marie Bromar.'
+
+Whenever Michel Voss was heard to call his niece Marie Bromar, using
+the two names, it was understood, by all who heard him about the
+hotel, that he was not in a good humour.  As soon as Urmand was
+gone, he rose slowly from his seat, and with heavy steps he went up-
+stairs in search of the refractory girl.  He went straight to her
+own bedroom, and there he found her still sitting on her bedside.
+She jumped up as soon as he was in the room, and running up to him,
+took him by the arm.  'Uncle Michel,' she said, 'pray, pray be good
+to me.  Pray, spare me!'
+
+'I am good to you,' he said.  'I try to be good to you.'
+
+'You know that I love you.  Do you not know that I love you?'  Then
+she paused, but he made no answer to her.  He was surer of nothing
+in the world than he was of her affection; but it did not suit him
+to acknowledge it at that moment.  'I would do anything for you that
+I could do, Uncle Michel; but pray do not ask me to do this?'  Then
+she clasped him tightly, and hung upon him, and put up her face to
+be kissed.  But he would not kiss her.  'Ah,' said she; 'you mean to
+be hard to me.  Then I must go; then I must go; then I must go.'
+
+'That is nonsense, Marie.  You cannot go, till you go to your
+husband.  Where would you go to?'
+
+'It matters not where I go to now.'
+
+'Marie, you are betrothed to this man, and you must consent to
+become his wife.  Say that you will consent, and all this nonsense
+shall be forgotten.'  She did not say that she would consent; but
+she did not say that she would not, and he thought that he might
+persuade her, if he could speak to her as he ought.  But he doubted
+which might be most efficacious, affection or severity.  He had
+assured himself that it would be his duty to be very severe, before
+he gave up the point; but it might be possible, as she was so sweet
+with him, so loving and so gracious, that affection might prevail.
+If so, how much easier would the task be to himself!  So he put his
+arm round her, and stooped down and kissed her.
+
+'O, Uncle Michel,' she said; 'dear, dear Uncle Michel; say that you
+will spare me, and be on my side, and be good to me.'
+
+'My darling girl, it is for your own good, for the good of us all,
+that you should marry this man.  Do you not know that I would not
+tell you so, if it were not true?  I cannot be more good to you than
+that.'
+
+'I can--not, Uncle Michel.'
+
+'Tell me why, now.  What is it?  Has anybody been bringing tales to
+you?'
+
+'Nobody has brought any tales.'
+
+'Is there anything amiss with him?'
+
+'It is not that.  It is not that at all.  I am sure he is an
+excellent young man, and I wish with all my heart he had a better
+wife than I can ever be.'
+
+'He thinks you will be quite good enough for him.'
+
+'I am not good for anybody.  I am very bad.'
+
+'Leave him to judge of that.'
+
+'But I cannot do it, Uncle Michel.  I can never be Adrian Urmand's
+wife.'
+
+'But why, why, why?' repeated Michel, who was beginning to be again
+angered by his own want of success.  'You have said that a dozen
+times, but have never attempted to give a reason.'
+
+'I will tell you the reason.  It is because I love George with all
+my heart, and with all my soul.  He is so dear to me, that I should
+always be thinking of him.  I could not help myself.  I should
+always have him in my heart.  Would that be right, Uncle Michel, if
+I were married to another man?'
+
+'Then why did you accept the other man?  There is nothing changed
+since then.'
+
+'I was wicked then.'
+
+'I don't think you were wicked at all;--but at any rate you did it.
+You didn't think anything about having George in your heart then.'
+
+It was very hard for her to answer this, and for a moment or two she
+was silenced.  At last she found a reply.  'I thought everything was
+dead within me then,--and that it didn't signify.  Since that he has
+been here, and he has told me all.'
+
+'I wish he had stayed where he was with all my heart.  We did not
+want him here,' said the innkeeper in his anger.
+
+'But he did come, Uncle Michel.  I did not send for him, but he did
+come.'
+
+'Yes; he came,--and he has disturbed everything that I had arranged
+so happily.  Look here, Marie.  I lay my commands upon you as your
+uncle and guardian, and I may say also as your best and stanchest
+friend, to be true to the solemn engagement which you have made with
+this young man.  I will not hear any answer from you now, but I
+leave you with that command.  Urmand has come here at my request,
+because I told him that you would be obedient.  If you make a fool
+of me, and of yourself, and of us all, it will be impossible that I
+should forgive you.  He will see you this evening, and I will trust
+to your good sense to receive him with propriety.'  Then Michel Voss
+left the room and descended with ponderous steps, indicative of a
+heavy heart.
+
+Marie, when she was alone, again seated herself on the bedside.  Of
+course she must see Adrian Urmand.  She was quite aware that she
+could not encounter him now with that half-saucy independent air
+which had come to her quite naturally before she had accepted him.
+She would willingly humble herself in the dust before him, if by so
+doing she could induce him to relinquish his suit.  But if she could
+not do so; if she could not talk over either her uncle or him to be
+on what she called her side, then what should she do?  Her uncle's
+entreaties to her, joined to his too evident sorrow, had upon her an
+effect so powerful, that she could hardly overcome it.  She had, as
+she thought, resolved most positively that nothing should induce her
+to marry Adrian Urmand.  She had of course been very firm in this
+resolution when she wrote her letter.  But now--now she was almost
+shaken!  When she thought only of herself, she would almost task
+herself to believe that after all it did not much matter what of
+happiness or of unhappiness might befall her.  If she allowed
+herself to be taken to a new home at Basle she could still work and
+eat and drink,--and working, eating, and drinking she could wait
+till her unhappiness should be removed.  She was sufficiently wise
+to understand that as she became a middle-aged woman, with perhaps
+children around her, her sorrow would melt into a soft regret which
+would be at least endurable.  And what did it signify after all how
+much one such a being as herself might suffer?  The world would go
+on in the same way, and her small troubles would be of but little
+significance.  Work would save her from utter despondence.  But when
+she thought of George, and the words in which he had expressed the
+constancy of his own love, and the shipwreck which would fall upon
+him if she were untrue to him,--then again she would become strong
+in her determination.  Her uncle had threatened her with his lasting
+displeasure.  He had said that it would be impossible that he should
+forgive her.  That would be unbearable!  Yet, when she thought of
+George, she told herself that it must be borne.
+
+Before the hour of supper came, her aunt had been with her, and she
+had promised to see her suitor alone.  There had been some doubt on
+this point between Michel and his wife, Madame Voss thinking that
+either she or her husband ought to be present.  But Michel had
+prevailed.  'I don't care what any people may say,' he replied.  'I
+know my own girl;--and I know also what he has a right to expect.'
+So it was settled, and Marie understood that Adrian was to come to
+her in the little brightly furnished sitting-room upstairs.  On this
+occasion she took no notice of the hotel supper at all.  It is to be
+hoped that Peter Veque proved himself equal to the occasion.
+
+At about nine she was seated in the appointed place, and Madame Voss
+brought her lover up into the room.
+
+'Here is M. Urmand come to speak to you,' she said.  'Your uncle
+thinks that you had better see him alone.  I am sure you will bear
+in mind what it is that he and I wish.'  Then she closed the door,
+and Adrian and Marie were left together.
+
+'I need hardly tell you,' said he, 'what were my feelings when your
+uncle came to me yesterday morning.  And when I opened your letter
+and read it, I could hardly believe that it had come from you.'
+
+'Yes, M. Urmand;--it did come from me.'
+
+'And why--what have I done?  The last word you had spoken to me was
+to declare that you would be my loving wife.'
+
+'Not that, M. Urmand; never that.  When I thought it was to be so, I
+told you that I would do my best to do my duty by you.'
+
+'Say that once more, and all shall be right.'
+
+'But I never promised that I would love you.  I could not promise
+that; and I was very wicked to allow them to give you my troth.  You
+can't think worse of me than I think of myself.'
+
+'But, Marie, why should you not love me?  I am sure you would love
+me.'
+
+'Listen to me, M. Urmand; listen to me, and be generous to me.  I
+think you can be generous to a poor girl who is very unhappy.  I do
+not love you.  I do not say that I should not have loved you, if you
+had been the first.  Why should not any girl love you?  You are
+above me in every way, and rich, and well spoken of; and your life
+has been less rough and poor than mine.  It is not that I have been
+proud.  What is there that I can be proud of--except my uncle's
+trust in me?  But George Voss had come to me before, and had made me
+promise that I would love him;--and I do love him.  How can I help
+it, if I wished to help it?  O, M. Urmand, can you not be generous?
+Think how little it is that you will lose.'  But Adrian Urmand did
+not like to be told of the girl's love for another man.  His
+generosity would almost have been more easily reached had she told
+him of George's love for her.  People had assured him since he was
+engaged that Marie Bromar was the handsomest girl in Lorraine or
+Alsace; and he felt it to be an injury that this handsome girl
+should prefer such a one as George Voss to himself.  Marie, with a
+woman's sharpness, perceived all this accurately.  'Remember,' said
+she, 'that I had hardly seen you when George and I were--when he and
+I became such friends.'
+
+'Your uncle doesn't want you to marry his son.'
+
+'I shall never become George's wife without consent; never.'
+
+'Then what would be the use of my giving way?' asked Urmand.  'He
+would never consent.'
+
+She paused for a moment before she replied.
+
+'To save yourself,' said she, 'from living with a woman who cannot
+love you, and to save me from living with a man I cannot love.'
+
+'And is this to be all the answer you will give me?'
+
+'It is the request that I have to make to you,' said Marie.
+
+'Then I had better go down to your uncle.'  And he went down to
+Michel Voss, leaving Marie Bromar again alone.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII.
+
+The people of Colmar think Colmar to be a considerable place, and
+far be it from us to hint that it is not so.  It is--or was in the
+days when Alsace was French--the chief town of the department of the
+Haut Rhine.  It bristles with barracks, and is busy with cotton
+factories.  It has been accustomed to the presence of a prefet, and
+is no doubt important.  But it is not so large that people going in
+and out of it can pass without attention, and this we take to be the
+really true line of demarcation between a big town and a little one.
+Had Michel Voss and Adrian Urmand passed through Lyons or Strasbourg
+on their journey to Granpere, no one would have noticed them, and
+their acquaintances in either of those cities would not have been a
+bit the wiser.  But it was not probable that they should leave the
+train at the Colmar station, and hire Daniel Bredin's caleche for
+the mountain journey thence to Granpere, without all the facts of
+the case coming to the ears of Madame Faragon.  And when she had
+heard the news, of course she told it to George Voss.  She had
+interested herself very keenly in the affair of George's love,
+partly because she had a soft heart of her own and loved a ray of
+romance to fall in upon her as she sat fat and helpless in her easy-
+chair, and partly because she thought that the future landlord of
+the Hotel de la Poste at Colmar ought to be regarded as a bigger man
+and a better match than any Swiss linen-merchant in the world.  'I
+can't think what it is that your father means,' she had said.  'When
+he and I were young, he used not to be so fond of the people of
+Basle, and he didn't think so much then of a peddling buyer of
+sheetings and shirtings.'  Madame Faragon was rather fond of
+alluding to past times, and of hinting to George that in early days,
+had she been willing, she might have been mistress of the Lion d'Or
+at Granpere, instead of the Poste at Colmar.  George never quite
+believed the boast, as he knew that Madame Faragon was at least ten
+years older than his father.  'He used to think,' continued Madame
+Faragon, 'that there was nothing better than a good house in the
+public line, with a well-spirited woman inside it to stand her
+ground and hold her own.  But everything is changed now, since the
+railroads came up.  The pedlars become merchants, and the
+respectable old shopkeepers must go to the wall.'  George would hear
+all this in silence, though he knew that his old friend was
+endeavouring to comfort him by making little of the Basle linen-
+merchant.  Now, when Madame Faragon learned that Michel Voss and
+Adrian Urmand had gone through Colmar back from Basle on their way
+to Granpere, she immediately foresaw what was to happen.  Marie's
+marriage was to be hurried on, George was to be thrown overboard,
+and the pedlar's pack was to be triumphant over the sign of the
+innkeeper.
+
+'If I were you, George, I would dash in among them at once,' said
+Madame Faragon.
+
+George was silent for a minute or two, leaving the room and
+returning to it before he made any answer.  Then he declared that he
+would dash in among them at Granpere.
+
+'It will be better to go over and see it all settled,' he said.
+
+'But, George, you won't quarrel?'
+
+'What do you mean by quarrelling?  I don't suppose that this man and
+I can be very dear friends when we meet each other.'
+
+'You won't have any fighting?  O, George, if I thought there was
+going to be fighting, I would go myself to prevent it.'  Madame
+Faragon no doubt was sincere in her desire that there should be no
+fighting; but, nevertheless, there was a life and reality about this
+little affair which had a gratifying effect upon her.  'If I thought
+I could do any good, I really would go,' she said again afterwards.
+But George did not encourage her to make the attempt.
+
+No more was said about it; but early on the following morning, or in
+truth long before the morning had dawned, George had started upon
+his journey, following his father and M. Urmand in their route over
+the mountain.  This was the third time he had gone to Granpere in
+the course of the present autumn, and on each time he had gone
+without invitation and without warning.  And yet, previous to this,
+he had remained above a year at Colmar without taking any notice of
+his family.  He knew that his father would not make him welcome, and
+he almost doubted whether it would be proper for him to drive
+himself direct to the door of the hotel.  His father had told him,
+when they were last parting from each other, that he was nothing but
+a trouble.  'You are all trouble,' his father had said to him.  And
+then his father had threatened to have him turned from the door by
+the servants, if he should come to the house again before Marie and
+Adrian were married.  He was not afraid of his father; but he felt
+that he had no right to treat the Lion d'Or as his own home unless
+he was prepared to obey his father.  And he knew nothing as to Marie
+and her purpose.  He had learned from her that, were she left to
+herself, she would give herself with all her heart to him.  But she
+would not be left to herself, and he only knew now that Adrian
+Urmand was being taken back to Granpere,--of course with the
+intention that the marriage should be at once perfected.  Madame
+Faragon had, no doubt, been right in her advice as to dashing in
+among them at once.  Whatever was to be done must be done now.  But
+it was by no means clear to him how he was to carry on the war when
+he found himself among them all at Granpere.
+
+It was now October, and the morning on the mountain was very dark
+and cold.  He had started from Colmar between three and four, so
+that he had passed through Munster, and was ascending the hill
+before six.  He stopped, too, and fed his horse at the Emperor's
+house at the top, and fortified himself with a tumbler of wine and a
+hunch of bread.  He meant to go into Granpere and claim Marie as his
+own.  He would go to the priest, and to the pastor if necessary, and
+forbid all authorities to lend their countenance to the proposed
+marriage.  He would speak his mind plainly, and would accuse his
+father of extreme cruelty.  He would call upon Madame Voss to save
+her niece.  He would be very savage with Marie, hoping that he might
+thereby save her from herself,--defying her to say either before man
+or God that she loved the man whom she was about to make her
+husband.  And as to Adrian Urmand himself--; he still thought that,
+should the worst come to the worst, he would try some process of
+choking upon Adrian Urmand.  Any use of personal violence would be
+distasteful to him and contrary to his nature.  He was not a man who
+in the ordinary way of his life would probably lift his hand against
+another.  Such liftings of hands on the part of other men he
+regarded as a falling back to the truculence of savage life.  Men
+should manage and coerce each other either with the tongue, or with
+money, or with the law--according to his theory of life.  But on
+such an occasion as this he found himself obliged to acknowledge
+that, if the worst should come to the worst, some attempt at choking
+his enemy must be made.  It must be made for Marie's sake, if not
+for his own.  In this mood of mind he drove down to Granpere, and,
+not knowing where else to stop, drew up his horse in the middle of
+the road before the hotel.  The stable-servant, who was hanging
+about, immediately came to him;--and there was his father standing,
+all alone, at the door of the house.  It was now ten o'clock, and he
+had expected that his father would have been away from home, as was
+his custom at that hour.  But the innkeeper's mind was at present
+too full of trouble to allow of his going off either to the
+woodcutting or to the farm.
+
+Adrian Urmand, after his failure with Marie on the preceding
+evening, had not again gone down-stairs.  He had taken himself at
+once to his bedroom, and had remained there gloomy and unhappy, very
+angry with Marie Bromar; but, if possible, more angry with Michel
+Voss.  Knowing, as he must have known, how the land lay, why had the
+innkeeper brought him from Basle to Granpere?  He found himself to
+have been taken in, from first to last, by the whole household, and
+he would at this moment have been glad to obliterate Granpere
+altogether from among the valleys of the Vosges.  And so he went to
+bed in his wrath.  Michel and Madame Voss sat below waiting for him
+above an hour.  Madame Voss more than once proposed that she should
+go up and see what was happening.  It was impossible, she declared,
+that they should be talking together all that time.  But her husband
+had stayed her.  'Whatever they have to say, let them say it out.'
+It seemed to him that Marie must be giving way, if she submitted
+herself to so long an interview.  When at last Madame Voss did go
+up-stairs, she learned from the maid that M. Urmand had been in bed
+ever so long; and on going to Marie's chamber, she found her sitting
+where she had sat before.  'Yes, Aunt Josey, I will go to bed at
+once,' she said.  'Give uncle my love.'  Then Aunt Josey had
+returned to her husband, and neither of them had been able to
+extract any comfort from the affairs of the evening.
+
+Early on the following morning, M. le Cure was called to a
+consultation.  This was very distasteful to Michel Voss, because he
+was himself a Protestant, and, having lived all his life with a
+Protestant son and two Roman Catholic women in the house, he had
+come to feel that Father Gondin's religion was a religion for the
+weaker sex.  He troubled himself very little with the doctrinal
+differences, having no slightest touch of an idea that he was to be
+saved because he was a Protestant, and that they were in peril
+because they were Roman Catholics.  Nor, indeed, was there any such
+idea on either side prevalent in the valley.  What M. le Cure
+himself may have believed, who can say?  But he never taught his
+parishioners that their Protestant uncles and wives and children
+were to be damned.  Michel Voss was averse to priestly assistance;
+but now he submitted to it.  He hardly knew himself how far that
+betrothal was a binding ceremony.  But he felt strongly that he had
+committed himself to the marriage; that it did not become him to
+allow that his son had been right; and also that if Marie would only
+marry the man, she would find herself quite happy in her new home.
+So M. le Cure was called in, and there was a consultation.  M. le
+Cure was quite as hot in favour of the marriage as were the other
+persons concerned.  It was, in the first place, infinitely
+preferable in his eyes that his young parishioner should marry a
+Roman Catholic.  But he was not able to undertake to use any special
+thunders of the Church.  He could tell the young woman what was her
+duty, and he had done so.  If her guardians wished it, he would do
+so again, very strongly.  But he did not know how he was to do more.
+Then the priest told the story of Annette Lolme, pointing out how
+well Marie was acquainted with all the bearings of the case.
+
+'But both consented to break it off in that case,' said Michel.  It
+was singular to observe how cruel he had become against the girl
+whom he so dearly loved.  The Cure explained to him again that
+neither the Church nor the law could interfere to make her marry M.
+Urmand.  It might be explained to her that she would commit a sin
+requiring penitence and absolution if she did not marry him.  The
+Church could go no farther than that.  But--such was the Cure's
+opinion--there was no power at the command of Michel Voss by which
+he could force his niece to marry the man, unless his own internal
+power as a friend and a protector might enable him to do so.  'She
+doesn't care a straw for that now,' said he.  'Not a straw.  Since
+that fellow was over here, she thinks nothing of me, and nothing of
+her word.'  Then he went out to the hotel door, leaving the priest
+with his wife, and he had not stood there for a minute or two before
+he saw his son's arrival.  Marie, in the mean time, had not left her
+room.  She had sent word down to her uncle that she was ill, and
+that she would beg him to go up to her.  As yet he had not seen her;
+but a message had been taken to her, saying that he would come soon.
+Adrian Urmand had breakfasted alone, and had since been wandering
+about the house by himself.  He also, from the windows of the
+billiard-room, had seen the arrival of George Voss.
+
+Michel Voss, when he saw George, did not move from his place.  He
+was still very angry with his son, vehemently angry, because his son
+stood in the way of the completion of his desires.  But he had
+forgotten all his threats, spoken now nearly a week ago.  He was
+altogether oblivious of his declaration that he would have George
+turned away from the door by the servants of the inn.  That his own
+son should treat his house as a home was so natural to him, that it
+did not even occur to him now that he could bid him not to enter.
+There he was again, creating more trouble; and, as far as our friend
+the innkeeper could see, likely enough to be successful in his
+object.  Michel stood his ground, with his hands in his pockets,
+because he would not even shake hands with his son.  But when George
+came up, he bowed a recognition with his head; as though he should
+have said, 'I see you; but I cannot say that you are welcome to
+Granpere.'  George stood for a moment or two, and then addressed his
+father.
+
+'Adrian Urmand is here with you, is he not, father?'
+
+'He is in the house somewhere,' said Michel, sullenly.
+
+'May I speak to him?'
+
+'I am not his keeper; not his,' and Michel put a special accent on
+the last word, by which he implied that though he was not the keeper
+of Adrian Urmand, he was the keeper of somebody else.  George stood
+awhile, hesitating, by his father's side, and as he stood he saw
+through the window of the billiard-room the figure of Urmand, who
+was watching them.  'Your mother is in her own room; you had better
+go to her,' said Michel.  Then George entered the hotel, and his
+father went across the court to seek Urmand in his retreat.  In this
+way the difficulty of the first meeting was overcome, and George did
+not find himself turned out of the Lion d'Or.
+
+He knew of course nothing of the state of affairs at the inn.  It
+might be that Marie had already given way, and was still the
+promised bride of this man.  Indeed, to him it seemed most probable
+that such should be the case.  He had been sent to look for Madame
+Voss, and Madame Voss he found in the kitchen.
+
+'O, George, who expected to see you here to-day!' she exclaimed.
+
+'Nobody, I daresay,' he replied.  The cook was there, and two or
+three other servants and hangers-on.  It was impossible that he
+should speak out before so many persons, and he had not a friend
+about the place, unless Marie was his friend.  After a few moments
+he went into the inner room, and Madame Voss followed him.  'Well,'
+said he, 'has anything been settled?'
+
+'I am sorry to say that everything is as unsettled as it can be,'
+said Madame Voss.
+
+Then Marie must be true to him!  And if so, she must be the grandest
+woman, the finest girl that had ever been created.  If so, would he
+not be true to her?  If so, with what a true worship would he offer
+her all that he had to give in the world!  He had come there before
+determined to crush her with his thunderbolt.  Now he would swear to
+cherish her and keep her warm with his love for ever and ever.  'Is
+she here?' he asked.
+
+'She is up-stairs, in bed.  You cannot see her.'
+
+'She is not ill?'
+
+'She is making everybody else ill about the place, I know that,'
+said Madame Voss.  'And as for you, George, you owe a different kind
+of treatment to your father; you do indeed.  It will make an old man
+of him.  He has set his heart upon this, and you ought to have
+yielded.'
+
+It was at any rate evident that Marie was holding out, was true to
+her first love, in spite of that betrothal which had appeared to
+George to be so wicked, but which had in truth been caused by his
+own fault.  If Marie would hold out, there would be no need that he
+should lay violent hands upon Adrian Urmand, or have resort to any
+process of choking.  If she would only be firm, they could not
+succeed in making her marry the linen-merchant.  He was not in the
+least afraid of M. le Cure Gondin; nor was he afraid of Adrian
+Urmand.  He was not much afraid of Madame Voss.  He was afraid only
+of his father.  'A man cannot yield on such a matter,' he said.  'No
+man yields in such an affair,--though he may be beaten.'  Madame
+Voss listened to him, but said nothing farther.  She was busy with
+her work, and went on intently with her needle.
+
+He had asked to see Urmand, and he now went out in quest of him.  He
+passed across the court, and in at the door of the cafe, and up into
+the billiard-room.  Here he found both his father and the young man.
+Urmand got up to salute him, and George took off his hat.  Nothing
+could be more ceremonious than the manner in which the two rivals
+greeted each other.  They had not seen each other for nearly two
+years, and had never been intimate.  When George had been living at
+Granpere, Urmand had only been an occasional sojourner at the inn,
+and had not as yet fallen into habits of friendship with the Voss
+family.
+
+'Have you seen your mother?' Michel asked.
+
+'Yes; I have seen her.'  Then there was silence for awhile.  Urmand
+knew not how to speak, and George was doubtful how to proceed in
+presence of his father.
+
+Then Michel asked another question.  'Are you going to stay long
+with us, George?'
+
+'Certainly not long, father.  I have brought nothing with me but
+what you see.'
+
+'You have brought too much, if you have come to give us trouble.'
+
+Then there was another pause, during which George sat down in a
+corner, apart from them.  Urmand took out a cigar and lit it,
+offering one to the innkeeper.  But Michel Voss shook his head.  He
+was very unhappy, feeling that everything around him was wrong.
+Here was a son of his, of whom he was proud, the only living child
+of his first wife, a young man of whom all people said good things;
+a son whom he had always loved and trusted, and who even now, at
+this very moment, was showing himself to be a real man; and yet he
+was forced to quarrel with this son, and say harsh things to him,
+and sit away from him with a man who was after all no more than a
+stranger to him, with whom he had no sympathy; when it would have
+made him so happy to be leaning on his son's shoulder, and
+discussing their joint affairs with unreserved confidence, asking
+questions about wages, and suggesting possible profits.  He was
+beginning to hate Adrian Urmand.  He was beginning to hate the young
+man, although he knew that it was his duty to go on with the
+marriage.  Urmand, as soon as his cigar was lighted, got up and
+began to knock the balls about on the table.  That gloom of silence
+was to him most painful.
+
+'If you would not mind it, M. Urmand,' said George, 'I should like
+to take a walk with you.'
+
+'To take a walk?'
+
+'If it would not be disagreeable.  Perhaps it would be well that you
+and I should have a few minutes of conversation.'
+
+'I will leave you together here,' said the father, 'if you, George,
+will promise me that there shall be no violence.'  Urmand looked at
+the innkeeper as though he did not like the proposition, but Michel
+took no notice of his look.
+
+'There certainly shall be none on my part,' said George.  'I don't
+know what M. Urmand's feelings may be.'
+
+'O dear, no; nothing of the kind,' said Urmand.  'But I don't
+exactly see what we are to talk about.'  Michel, however, paid no
+attention to this, but walked slowly out of the room.  'I really
+don't know what there is to say,' continued Urmand, as he knocked
+the balls about with his cue.
+
+'There is this to say.  That girl up there was induced to promise
+that she would be your wife, when she believed that--I had forgotten
+her.'
+
+'O dear, no; nothing of the kind.'
+
+'That is her story.  Go and ask her.  If it is so, or even if it
+suits her now to say so, you will hardly, as a man, endeavour to
+drive her into a marriage which she does not wish.  You will never
+do it, even if you do try.  Though you go on trying till you drive
+her mad, she will never be your wife.  But if you are a man, you
+will not continue to torment her, simply because you have got her
+uncle to back you.'
+
+'Who says she will never marry me?'
+
+'I say so.  She says so.'
+
+'We are betrothed to each other.  Why should she not marry me?'
+
+'Simply because she does not wish it.  She does not love you.  Is
+not that enough?  She does love another man; me--me--me.  Is not
+that enough?  Heaven and earth! I would sooner go to the galleys, or
+break stones upon the roads, than take a woman to my bosom who was
+thinking of some other man.'
+
+'That is all very fine.'
+
+'Let me tell you, that the other thing, that which you propose to
+do, is by no means fine.  But I will not quarrel with you, if I can
+help it.  Will you go away and leave us at peace?  They say you are
+rich and have a grand house.  Surely you can do better than marry a
+poor innkeeper's niece--a girl that has worked hard all her life?'
+
+'I could do better if I chose,' said Adrian Urmand.
+
+'Then go and do better.  Do you not perceive that even my father is
+becoming tired of all the trouble you are making?  Surely you will
+not wait till you are turned out of the house?'
+
+'Who will turn me out of the house?'
+
+'Marie will, and my father.  Do you think he'll see her wither and
+droop and die, or perhaps go mad, in order that a promise may be
+kept to you?  Take the matter into your own hands at once, and say
+you will have no more to do with it.  That will be the manly way.'
+
+'Is that all you have to say, my friend?' asked Urmand, assuming a
+voice that was intended to be indifferent.
+
+'Yes--that is all.  But I mean to do something more, if I am driven
+to it.'
+
+'Very well.  When I want advice from you, I will come to you for it.
+And as for your doing, I believe you are not master here as yet.
+Good-morning.'  So saying, Adrian Urmand left the room, and George
+Voss in a few minutes followed him down the stairs.
+
+The rest of the day was passed in gloom and wretchedness.  George
+hardly spoke to his father; but the two sat at table together, and
+there was no open quarrel between them.  Urmand also sat with them,
+and tried to converse with Michel and Madame Voss.  But Michel would
+say very little to him; and the mistress of the house was so cowed
+by the circumstances of the day, that she was hardly able to talk.
+Marie still kept her room; and it was stated to them that she was
+not well and was in bed.  Her uncle had gone to see her twice, but
+had made no report to any one of what had passed between them.
+
+It had come to be understood that George would sleep there, at any
+rate for that night, and a bed had been prepared for him.  The party
+broke up very early, for there was nothing in common among them to
+keep them together.  Madame Voss sat murmuring with the priest for
+half an hour or so; but it seemed that the gloom attendant upon the
+young lovers had settled also upon M. le Cure.  Even he escaped as
+early as he could.
+
+When George was about to undress himself there came a knock at his
+door, and one of the servant-girls put into his hand a scrap of
+paper.  On it was written, 'I will never marry him, never--never--
+never; upon my honour!'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX.
+
+Michel Voss at this time was a very unhappy man.  He had taught
+himself to believe that it would be a good thing that his niece
+should marry Adrian Urmand, and that it was his duty to achieve this
+good thing in her behalf.  He had had it on his mind for the last
+year, and had nearly brought it to pass.  There was, moreover, now,
+at this present moment, a clear duty on him to be true to the young
+man who with his consent, and indeed very much at his instance, had
+become betrothed to Marie Bromar.  The reader will understand how
+ideas of duty, not very clearly looked into or analysed, acted upon
+his mind.  And then there was always present to him a recurrence of
+that early caution which had made him lay a parental embargo upon
+anything like love between his son and his wife's niece.  Without
+much thinking about it,--for he probably never thought very much
+about anything,--he had deemed it prudent to separate two young
+people brought up together, when they began, as he fancied, to be
+foolish.  An elderly man is so apt to look upon his own son as a
+boy, and on a girl who has grown up under his nose as little more
+than a child!  And then George in those days had had no business of
+his own, and should not have thought of such a thing!  In this way
+the mind of Michel Voss had been forced into strong hostility
+against the idea of a marriage between Marie and his son, and had
+filled itself with the spirit of a partisan on the side of Adrian
+Urmand.  But now, as things had gone, he had been made very unhappy
+by the state of his own mind, and consequently was beginning to feel
+a great dislike for the merchant from Basle.  The stupid mean little
+fellow, with his white pocket-handkerchief, and his scent, and his
+black greasy hair, had made his way into the house and had destroyed
+all comfort and pleasure!  That was the light in which Michel was
+now disposed to regard his previously honoured guest.  When he made
+a comparison between Adrian and George, he could not but acknowledge
+that any girl of spirit and sense would prefer his son.  He was very
+proud of his son,--proud even of the lad's disobedience to himself
+on such a subject; and this feeling added to his discomfort.
+
+He had twice seen Marie in her bed during that day spoken of in the
+last chapter.  On both occasions he had meant to be very firm; but
+it was not easy for such a one as Michel Voss to be firm to a young
+woman in her night-cap, rather pale, whose eyes were red with
+weeping.  A woman in bed was to him always an object of tenderness,
+and a woman in tears, as his wife well knew, could on most occasions
+get the better of him.  When he first saw Marie, he merely told her
+to lie still and take a little broth.  He kissed her however and
+patted her cheek, and then got out of the room as quickly as he
+could.  He knew his own weakness, and was afraid to trust himself to
+her prayers while she lay before him in that guise.  When he went
+again, he had been unable not to listen to a word or two which she
+had prepared, and had ready for instant speech.  'Uncle Michel,' she
+said, 'I will never marry any one without your leave, if you will
+let M. Urmand go away.'  He had almost come to wish by this time
+that M. Urmand would go away and never come back again.  'How am I
+to send him away?' he had said crossly.  'If you tell him, I know he
+will go,--at once,' said Marie.  Michel had muttered something about
+Marie's illness and the impossibility of doing anything at present,
+and again had left the room.  Then Marie began to take heart of
+grace, and to think that victory might yet be on her side.  But how
+was George to know that she was firmly determined to throw those
+odious betrothals to the wind?  Feeling it to be absolutely
+incumbent on her to convey to him this knowledge, she wrote the few
+words which the servant conveyed to her lover,--making no promise in
+regard to him, but simply assuring him that she would never,--
+never,--never become the wife of that other man.
+
+Early on the following morning Michel Voss went off by himself.  He
+could not stay in bed, and he could not hang about the house.  He
+did not know how to demean himself to either of the young men when
+he met them.  He could not be cordial as he ought to be with Urmand;
+nor could he be austere to George with that austerity which he felt
+would have been proper on his part.  He was becoming very tired of
+his dignity and authority.  Hitherto the exercise of power in his
+household had generally been easy enough, his wife and Marie had
+always been loving and pleasant in their obedience.  Till within
+these last weeks there had even been the most perfect accordance
+between him and his niece.  'Send him away;--that's very easily
+said,' he muttered to himself as he went up towards the mountains;
+'but he has got my engagement, and of course he'll hold me to it.'
+He trudged on, he hardly knew whither.  He was so unhappy, that the
+mills and the timber-cutting were nothing to him.  When he had
+walked himself into a heat, he sat down and took out his pipe, but
+he smoked more by habit than for enjoyment.  Supposing that he did
+bring himself to change his mind,--which he did not think he ever
+would,--how could he break the matter to Urmand?  He told himself
+that he was sure he would not change his mind, because of his solemn
+engagement to the young man; but he did acknowledge that the young
+man was not what he had taken him to be.  He was effeminate, and
+wanted spirit, and smelt of hair-grease.  Michel had discovered none
+of these defects,--had perhaps regarded the characteristics as
+meritorious rather than otherwise,--while he had been hotly in
+favour of the marriage.  Then the hair-grease and the rest of it had
+in his eyes simply been signs of the civilisation of the town as
+contrasted with the rusticity of the country.  It was then a great
+thing in his eyes that Marie should marry a man so polished, though
+much of the polish may have come from pomade.  Now his ideas were
+altered, and, as he sat alone upon the log, he continued to turn up
+his nose at poor M. Urmand.  But how was he to be rid of him,--and,
+if not of him, what was he to do then?  Was he to let all authority
+go by the board, and allow the two young people to marry, although
+the whole village heard how he had pledged himself in this matter?
+
+As he was sitting there, suddenly his son came upon him.  He frowned
+and went on smoking, though at heart he felt grateful to George for
+having found him out and followed him.  He was altogether tired of
+being alone, or, worse than that, of being left together with Adrian
+Urmand.  But the overtures for a general reconciliation could not
+come first from him, nor could any be entertained without at least
+some show of obedience.  'I thought I should find you up here,' said
+George.
+
+'And now you have found me, what of that?'
+
+'I fancy we can talk better, father, up among the woods, than we can
+down there when that young man is hanging about.  We always used to
+have a chat up here, you know.'
+
+'It was different then,' said Michel.  'That was before you had
+learned to think it a fine thing to be your own master and to oppose
+me in everything.'
+
+'I have never opposed you but in one thing, father.'
+
+'Ah, yes; in one thing.  But that one thing is everything.  Here
+I've been doing the best I could for both of you, striving to put
+you upon your legs, and make you a man and her a woman, and this is
+the return I get!'
+
+'But what would you have had me do?'
+
+'What would I have had you do?  Not come here and oppose me in
+everything.'
+
+'But when this Adrian Urmand--'
+
+'I am sick of Adrian Urmand,' said Michel Voss.  George raised his
+eyebrows and stared.  'I don't mean that,' said he; 'but I am
+beginning to hate the very sight of the man.  If he'd had the pluck
+of a wren, he would have carried her off long ago.'
+
+'I don't know how that may be, but he hasn't done it yet.  Come,
+father; you don't like the man any more than she does.  If you get
+tired of him in three days, what would she do in her whole life?'
+
+'Why did she accept him, then?'
+
+'Perhaps, father, we were all to blame a little in that.'
+
+'I was not to blame--not in the least.  I won't admit it.  I did the
+best I could for her.  She accepted him, and they are betrothed.
+The Cure down there says it's nearly as good as being married.'
+
+'Who cares what Father Gondin says?' asked George.
+
+'I'm sure I don't,' said Michel Voss.
+
+'The betrothal means nothing, father, if either of them choose to
+change their minds.  There was that girl over at Saint Die.'
+
+'Don't tell me of the girl at Saint Die.  I'm sick of hearing of the
+girl at Saint Die.  What the mischief is the girl at Saint Die to
+us?  We've got to do our duty if we can, like honest men and women;
+and not follow vagaries learned from Saint Die.'
+
+The two men walked down the hill together, reaching the hotel about
+noon.  Long before that time the innkeeper had fallen into a way of
+acknowledging that Adrian Urmand was an incubus; but he had not as
+yet quite admitted that there was any way of getting rid of the
+incubus.  The idea of having the marriage on the 1st of the present
+month was altogether abandoned, and Michel had already asked how
+they might manage among them to send Adrian Urmand back to Basle.
+'He must come again, if he chooses,' he had said; 'but I suppose he
+had better go now.  Marie is ill, and she mustn't be worried.'
+George proposed that his father should tell this to Urmand himself;
+but it seemed that Michel, who had never yet been known to be afraid
+of any man, was in some degree afraid of the little Swiss merchant.
+
+'Suppose my mother says a word to him,' suggested George.
+
+'She wouldn't dare for her life,' answered the father.
+
+'I would do it.'
+
+'No, indeed, George; you shall do no such thing.'
+
+Then George suggested the priest; but nothing had been settled when
+they reached the inn-door.  There he was, swinging a cane at the
+foot of the billiard-room stairs--the little bug-a-boo, who was now
+so much in the way of all of them!  The innkeeper muttered some
+salutation, and George just touched his hat.  Then they both passed
+on, and went into the house.
+
+Unfortunately the plea of Marie's illness was in part cut from under
+their feet by the appearance of Marie herself.  George, who had not
+as yet seen her, went up quickly to her, and, without saying a word,
+took her by the hand and held it.  Marie murmured some pretence at a
+salutation, but what she said was heard by no one.  When her uncle
+came to her and kissed her, her hand was still grasped in that of
+George.  All this had taken place in the passage; and before
+Michel's embrace was over, Adrian Urmand was standing in the doorway
+looking on.  George, when he saw him, held tighter by the hand, and
+Marie made no attempt to draw it away.
+
+'What is the meaning of all this?' said Urmand, coming up.
+
+'Meaning of what?' asked Michel.
+
+'I don't understand it--I don't understand it at all,' said Urmand.
+
+'Don't understand what?' said Michel.  The two lovers were still
+holding each other's hands; but Michel had not seen it; or, seeing
+it, had not observed it.
+
+'Am I to understand that Marie Bromar is betrothed to me, or not?'
+demanded Adrian.  'When I get an answer either way, I shall know
+what to do.'  There was in this an assumption of more spirit than
+had been expected on his part by his enemies at the Lion d'Or.
+
+'Why shouldn't you be betrothed to her?' said Michel.  'Of course
+you are betrothed to her; but I don't see what is the use of your
+talking so much about it.'
+
+'It is the first time I have said a word on the subject since I've
+been here,' said Urmand.  Which was true; but as Michel was
+continually thinking of the betrothal, he imagined that everybody
+was always talking to him of the matter.  Marie had now managed to
+get her hand free, and had retired into the kitchen.  Michel
+followed her, and stood meditative, with his back to the large
+stove.  As it happened, there was no one else present there at the
+moment.
+
+'Tell him to go back to Basle,' whispered Marie to her uncle.
+Michel only shook his head and groaned.
+
+'I don't think I am at all well-treated here among you,' said Adrian
+Urmand to George as soon as they were alone.
+
+'Any special friendship from me you can hardly expect,' said George.
+'As to my father and the rest of them, if they ill-treat you, I
+suppose you had better leave them.'
+
+'I won't put up with ill-treatment from anybody.  It's not what I'm
+used to.'
+
+'Look here, M. Urmand,' said George.  'I quite admit you have been
+badly used; and, on the part of the family, I am ready to
+apologise.'
+
+'I don't want any apology.'
+
+'What do you want, M. Urmand?'
+
+'I want--I want--Never mind what I want.  It is from your father
+that I shall demand it, not from you.  I shall take care to see
+myself righted.  I know the French law as well as the Swiss.'
+
+'If you're talking of law, you had better go back to Basle and get a
+lawyer,' said George.
+
+There had been no word spoken of George returning to Colmar on that
+morning.  He had told his father that he had brought nothing with
+him but what he had on; and in truth when he left Colmar he had not
+looked forward to any welcome which would induce him to remain at
+Granpere.  But the course of things had been different from that
+which he had expected.  He was much too good a general to think of
+returning now, and he had friends in the house who knew how to
+supply him with what was most necessary to him.  Nobody had asked
+him to stay.  His father had not uttered a word of welcome.  But he
+did stay, and Michel would have been very much surprised indeed if
+he had heard that he had gone.  The man in the stable had ventured
+to suggest that the old mare would not be wanted to go over the
+mountain that day.  To this George assented, and made special
+request that the old mare might receive gentle treatment.
+
+And so the day passed away.  Marie, who had recovered her health,
+was busy as usual about the house.  George and Urmand, though they
+did not associate, were rarely long out of each other's sight; and
+neither the one nor the other found much opportunity for pressing
+his suit.  George probably felt that there was not much need to do
+so, and Urmand must have known that any pressing of his suit in the
+ordinary way would be of no avail.  The innkeeper tried to make work
+for himself about the place, had the carriages out and washed,
+inspected the horses, and gave orders as to the future slaughter of
+certain pigs.  Everybody about the house, nevertheless, down to the
+smallest boy attached to the inn, knew that the landlord's mind was
+pre-occupied with the love affairs of those two men.  There was
+hardly an inhabitant of Granpere who did not understand what was
+going on; and, had it been the custom of the place to make bets on
+such matters, very long odds would have been wanted before any one
+would have backed Adrian Urmand.  And yet two days ago he was
+considered to be sure of the prize.  M. le Cure Gondin was a good
+deal at the hotel during the day, and perhaps he was the stanchest
+supporter of the Swiss aspirant.  He endeavoured to support Madame
+Voss, having that strong dislike to yield an inch in practice or in
+doctrine, which is indicative of his order.  He strove hard to make
+Madame Voss understand that if only she would be firm and cause her
+husband to be firm also, Marie would, of course, yield at last.  'I
+have ever so many young women just in the same way,' said the Cure,
+'and you would have thought they were going to break their hearts;
+but as soon as ever they have been married, they have forgotten all
+that.'  Madame Voss would have been quite contented to comply with
+the priest's counsel, could she have seen the way with her husband.
+But it had become almost manifest even to her, with the Cure to
+support her, that the star of Adrian Urmand was on the wane.  She
+felt from every word that Marie spoke to her, that Marie herself was
+confident of success.  And it may be said of Madame Voss, that
+although she had been forced by Michel into a kind of enthusiasm on
+behalf of the Swiss marriage, she had no very eager wishes of her
+own on the subject.  Marie was her own niece, and was dear to her;
+but the girl was sure of a well-to-do husband whichever way the war
+went; and what aunt need desire more for her most favourite niece
+than a well-to-do husband?
+
+The day went by, and the supper was eaten, and the cigars were
+smoked, and then they all went to bed.  But nothing more had been
+settled.  That obstinate young man, M. Adrian Urmand, though he had
+talked of his lawyer, had said not a word of going back to Basle.
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX.
+
+It is probable that all those concerned in the matter who slept at
+the Lion d'Or that night, made up their minds that on the following
+day the powers of the establishment must come to some decision.  It
+was not right that a young woman should have to live in the house
+with two favoured lovers; nor, as regarded the young men, was it
+right that they should be allowed to go on glaring at each other.
+Both Michel and Madame Voss feared that they would do more than
+glare, seeing that they were so like two dogs with one bone between
+them, who, in such an emergency, will generally fight.  Urmand
+himself was quite alive to the necessity of putting an end to his
+present exceptionally disagreeable position.  He was very angry;
+very angry naturally with Marie, who had, he thought, treated him
+villainously.  Why had she made that little soft, languid promise to
+him when he was last at Granpere, if she had not then loved him?
+And of course he was angry with George Voss.  What unsuccessful
+lover fails of being angry with his happy rival?  And then George
+had behaved with outrageous impropriety.  Urmand was beginning now
+to have a clear insight of the circumstances.  George and Marie had
+been lovers, and then George, having been sent away, had forgotten
+his love for a year or more.  But when the girl had been
+accommodated with another lover, then he thrust himself forward and
+disturbed everybody's arrangements!  No conduct could have been
+worse than this.  But, nevertheless, Urmand's anger was the hottest
+against Michel Voss himself.  Had he been left alone at Basle, had
+he been allowed to receive Marie's letter, and act upon it in
+accordance with his own judgment, he would never have made himself
+ridiculous by appearing at Granpere as a discomfited lover.  But the
+innkeeper had come and dragged him away from home, had
+misrepresented everything, had carried him away, as it were, by
+force to the scene of his disgrace, and now--threw him over!  He, at
+any rate, he, Michel Voss, should, as Adrian Urmand felt very
+bitterly, have been true and constant; but Michel, whose face could
+not lie, whatever his words might do, was clearly as anxious to be
+rid of his young friend as were any of the others in the hotel.
+Urmand himself would have been very glad to be back at Basle.  He
+had come to regard any farther connection with the inn at Granpere
+as extremely undesirable.  The Voss family was low.  He had found
+that out during his present visit.  But how was he to get away, and
+not look, as he was going, like a dog with his tail between his
+legs?  He had so clear a right to demand Marie's hand, that he could
+not bring himself to bear to be robbed of his claim.  And yet he had
+come to perceive how very foolish such a marriage would be.  He had
+been told that he could do better.  Of course he could do better.
+But how could he be rid of his bargain without submitting to ill-
+treatment?  If Michel had not come and fetched him away from his
+home the ill-treatment would have been by comparison slight, and of
+that normal kind to which young men are accustomed.  But to be
+brought over to the house, and then to be deserted by everybody in
+the house!  How, O how, was he to get out of the house?  Such were
+his reflections as he sat solitary in the long public room drinking
+his coffee, and eating an omelet, with which Peter Veque had
+supplied him, but which had in truth been cooked for him very
+carefully by Marie Bromar herself.  In her present frame of mind
+Marie would have cooked ortolans for him had he wished for them.
+
+And while Urmand was eating his omelet and thinking of his wrongs,
+Michel Voss and his son were standing together at the stable door.
+Michel had been there some time before his son had joined him, and
+when George came up to him he put out his hand almost furtively.
+George grasped it instantly, and then there came a tear into the
+innkeeper's eye.  'I have brought you a little of that tobacco we
+were talking of,' said George, taking a small packet out of his
+pocket.
+
+'Thank ye, George; thank ye; but it does not much matter now what I
+smoke.  Things are going wrong, and I don't get satisfaction out of
+anything.'
+
+'Don't say that, father.'
+
+'How can I help saying it?  Look at that fellow up there.  What am I
+to do with him?  What am I to say to him?  He means to stay there
+till he gets his wife.'
+
+'He'll never get a wife here, if he stays till the house falls on
+him.'
+
+'I can see that now.  But what am I to say to him?  How am I to get
+rid of him?  There is no denying, you know, that he has been treated
+badly among us.'
+
+'Would he take a little money, father?'
+
+'No.  He's not so bad as that.'
+
+'I should not have thought so; only he talked to me about his
+lawyer.'
+
+'Ah;--he did that in his anger.  By George, if I was in his position
+I should try and raise the very devil.  But don't talk of giving him
+money, George.  He's not bad in that way.'
+
+'He shouldn't have said anything about his lawyer.'
+
+'You wait till you're placed as he is, and you'll find that you'll
+say anything that comes uppermost.  But what are we to do with him,
+George?'
+
+Then the matter was discussed in the utmost confidence, and in all
+its bearings.  George offered to have a carriage and pair of horses
+got ready for Remiremont, and then to tell the young man that he was
+expected to get into it, and go away; but Michel felt that there
+must be some more ceremonious treatment than that.  George then
+suggested that the Cure should give the message, but Michel again
+objected.  The message, he felt, must be given by himself.  The
+doing this would be very bitter to him, because it would be
+necessary that he should humble himself before the scented shiny
+head of the little man:  but Michel knew that it must be so.  Urmand
+had been undoubtedly ill-treated among them, and the apology for
+that ill-treatment must be made by the chief of the family himself.
+'I suppose I might as well go to him alone,' said Michel, groaning.
+
+'Well, yes; I should say so,' replied his son.  'Soonest begun,
+soonest over;--and I suppose I might as well order the horses.'
+
+To this latter suggestion the father made no reply, but went slowly
+into the house.  He turned for a moment into Marie's little office,
+and stood there hesitating whether he would tell her his mission.
+As she was to be made happy, why should she not know it?
+
+'You two have got the better of me among you,' he said.
+
+'Which two, Uncle Michel?'
+
+'Which two?  Why, you and George.  And what I'm to do with the
+gentleman upstairs, it passes me to think.  Thank heaven, it will be
+a great many years before Flos wants a husband.'  Flos was the
+little daughter up-stairs, who was as yet no more than five years
+old.
+
+'I hope, Uncle Michel, you'll never have anybody else as naughty and
+troublesome as I have been,' said Marie, pressing close to him.  She
+was indescribably happy.  She was to be saved from the lover whom
+she did not want.  She was to have the lover whom she did want.
+And, over and above all this, a spirit of kind feeling and full
+sympathy existed once more between her and her dear friend.  As she
+offered no advice in regard to the disposal of the gentleman up-
+stairs, Michel was obliged to go upon his painful duty, trusting to
+his own wit.
+
+In the long room up-stairs he found Adrian Urmand sitting at the
+closed window, looking out at the ducks who were paddling in a
+temporary pool made by the late rains.  He had been painfully in
+want of something to do,--so much so that he had more than once
+almost resolved to put his things into his bag, and leave the house
+without saying a word of farewell to any one.  Had there been any
+means for him to escape from Granpere without saying a word, he
+would have done so.  But at Granpere there was no railway, and the
+only public conveyance in and out of the place started from the door
+of the Lion d'Or; started every morning, with much ceremony, so that
+it was impossible for him to fly unobserved.  There he was, watching
+the ducks, when Michel entered the room, and very much disposed to
+quarrel with any one who approached him.
+
+'I'm afraid you find it rather dull here,' said Michel, beginning
+the conversation.
+
+'It is dull; very dull indeed.'
+
+'That is the worst of it.  We are dull people here in the country.
+We have not the distractions which you town folk can always find.
+There's not much to do, and nothing to look at.'
+
+'Very little to look at, that's worth the trouble of looking,' said
+Urmand.
+
+There was a malignity of satire intended in this; for the young man
+in his wrath, and with a full conviction of what was coming upon
+him, had intended to include his betrothed in the catalogue of
+things of Granpere not worthy of inspection.  But Michel Voss did
+not at all follow him so far as that.
+
+'I never saw such a place,' continued Urmand.  'There isn't a soul
+even to play a game of billiards with.'
+
+Now Michel Voss, although for a purpose he had been willing to make
+little of his own village, did in truth consider that Granpere was
+at any rate as good a place to live in as Basle.  And he felt that
+though he might abuse Granpere, it was very uncourteous in Adrian
+Urmand to do so.  'I don't think much of playing billiards in the
+morning, I must own,' said he.
+
+'I daresay not,' said Urmand, still looking at the ducks.
+
+Michel had made no progress as yet, so he sat down and scratched his
+head.  The more he thought of it, the larger the difficulty seemed
+to be.  He was quite aware now that it was his own unfortunate
+journey to Basle which had brought so heavy a burden on him.  It was
+as yet no more than three or four days since he had taken upon
+himself to assure the young man that he, by his own authority, would
+make everything right; and now he was forced to acknowledge that
+everything was wrong.  'M. Urmand,' he said at last, 'it has been a
+very great grief to me, a very great grief indeed, that you should
+have found things so uncomfortable.'
+
+'What things do you mean?' said Urmand.
+
+'Well--everything--about Marie, you know.  When I went over to Basle
+the other day, I didn't think how it was going to turn out.  I
+didn't indeed.'
+
+'And how is it going to turn out?'
+
+'I can't make the young woman consent, you know,' said the
+innkeeper.
+
+'Let me tell you, M. Voss, that I wouldn't have the young woman, as
+you call her, if she consented ever so much.  She has disgraced me.'
+
+To this Michel listened with perfect equanimity.
+
+'She has disgraced you.'
+
+At hearing this Michel bit his lips, telling himself, however, that
+there had been mistakes made, and that he was bound to bear a good
+deal.
+
+'And she has disgraced herself,' said Adrian Urmand, with all the
+emphasis that he had at command.
+
+'I deny it,' said Marie's uncle, coming close up to his opponent,
+and standing before him.  'I deny it.  It is not true.  That shall
+not be said in my hearing, even by you.'
+
+'But I do say it.  She has disgraced herself.  Did she not give me
+her troth, when all the time she intended to marry another man?'
+
+'No!  She did nothing of the kind.  And look here, my friend, if you
+wish to be treated like a man in this house, you had better not say
+anything against any of the women who live in it.  You may abuse me
+as much as you please,--and George too, if it will do you any good.
+There have been mistakes made, and we owe you something.'
+
+'By heavens, yes; you do.'
+
+'But you sha'n't take it out in saying anything against Marie
+Bromar,--not in my hearing.'
+
+'Why;--what will you do?'
+
+'Don't drive me to do anything, M. Urmand.  If there is any
+compensation possible--'
+
+'Of course there must be compensation.'
+
+'What is it you will take?  Is it money?'
+
+'Money;--no.  As for money, I'm better off than any of you.'
+
+'What is it, then?  You don't want the girl herself?'
+
+'No;--certainly not.  I would not take her if she came and knelt to
+me.'
+
+'What can we do, then?  If you will only say.'
+
+'I want--I want--I don't know what I want.  I have been cruelly ill-
+used, and made a fool of before everybody.  I never heard of such a
+case before;--never.  And I have been so generous and honest to you!
+I did not ask for a franc of dot; and now you come and offer me
+money.  I don't think any man ever was so badly used anywhere.'  And
+on saying this Adrian Urmand in very truth burst into tears.
+
+The innkeeper's heart was melted at once.  It was all so true!
+Between them they had treated him very badly.  But then there had
+been so many unfortunate and unavoidable mistakes!  When the young
+man talked of compensation, what was Michel Voss to think?  His son
+had been led into exactly the same error.  Nevertheless, he repented
+himself bitterly in that he had said anything about money, and was
+prepared to make the most abject apologies.  Adrian Urmand had
+fallen into a chair, and Michel Voss came and seated himself close
+beside him.
+
+'I beg your pardon, Urmand; I do indeed.  I ought not to have
+mentioned money.  But when you spoke of compensation--'
+
+'It wasn't that.  It wasn't that.  It's my feelings!'
+
+Then the white cambric handkerchief was taken out and used with
+considerable vehemence.
+
+From that moment the innkeeper's goodwill towards Urmand returned,
+though of course he was quite aware that there was no place for him
+in that family.
+
+'If there is anything I can do, I will do it,' said Michel
+piteously.  'It has been unfortunate.  I know it has been very
+unfortunate.  But we didn't mean to be untrue.'
+
+'If you had only left me alone when I was at home?' said the
+unfortunate young man, who was still sobbing bitterly.
+
+They two remained in the long room together for a considerable time,
+during all of which Michel Voss was as gentle as though Urmand had
+been a child.  Nor did the poor rejected lover again have recourse
+to any violence of abuse, though he would over and over again repeat
+his opinion that surely, since lovers were first known in the world,
+and betrothals of marriage first made, no one had ever been so ill-
+used as was he.  It soon became clear to Michel that his great grief
+did not come from the loss of his wife, but from the feeling that
+everybody would know that he had been ill-used.  There wasn't a
+shopkeeper in his own town, he said, who hadn't heard of his
+approaching marriage.  And what was he to say when he went back?
+
+'Just say that you found us so rough and rustic,' said Michel Voss.
+
+But Urmand knew well that no such saying on his part would be
+believed.
+
+'I think I shall go to Lyons,' said he, 'and stay there for six
+months.  What's the business to me?  I don't care for the business.'
+
+There they sat all the morning.  Two or three times Peter Veque
+opened the door, peeped in at them, and then brought down word that
+the conference was still going on.
+
+'The master is sitting just over him like,' said Peter, 'and they're
+as close and loving as birds.'
+
+Marie listened, and said not a word to any one.  George had made two
+or three little attempts during the morning to entice her into some
+lover-like privacy.  But Marie would not be enticed.  The man to
+whom she was betrothed was still in the house; and, though she was
+quite secure that the betrothals would now be absolutely annulled,
+still she would not actually entertain another lover till this was
+done.
+
+At length the door of the long room was opened, and the two men came
+out.  Adrian Urmand, who was the first to be seen in the passage,
+went at once to his bedroom, and then Michel descended to the little
+parlour.  Marie was at the moment sitting on her stool of authority
+in the office, from whence she could hear what was said in the
+parlour.  Satisfied with this, she did not come down from her seat.
+In the parlour was Madame Voss and the Cure, and George, who had
+seen his father from the front door, at once joined them.
+
+'Well,' said Madame Voss, 'how is it to be?'
+
+'I've arranged that we're to have a little picnic up the ravine to-
+morrow,' said Michel.
+
+'A picnic!' said the Cure.
+
+'I'm all for a picnic,' said George.
+
+'A picnic!' said Madame Voss, 'and the ground as wet as a sop, and
+the wind from the mountains enough to cut one in two.'
+
+'Never mind about the wind.  We'll take coats and umbrellas.  It's
+better to have some kind of an outing, and then he'll recover
+himself.'  Marie, as she heard all this, made up her mind that if
+any possible store of provisions packed in hampers could bring her
+late lover round to equanimity, no efforts on her part should be
+wanting.  She would pack up cold chickens and champagne bottles with
+the greatest pleasure, and would eat her dinner sitting on a rock,
+even though the wind from the mountains should cut her in two.
+
+'And so it's all to end in a picnic,' said M. le Cure, with evident
+disgust.
+
+It appeared from Michel's description of what had taken place during
+that very long interview that Adrian Urmand had at last become quite
+gentle and confidential.  In what way could he be let down the most
+easily?  That was the question for the answering which these two
+heads were kept together in conference so long.  How could it be
+made to appear that the betrothal had been annulled by mutual
+consent?  At last the happy idea of a picnic occurred to Michel
+himself.  'I never thought about the time of the year,' he said;
+'but when friends are here and we want to do our best for them, we
+always take them to the ravine, and have dinners on the rocks.'  It
+had seemed to him, and as he declared to Urmand also, that if
+something like a jubilee could be got up before the young man's
+departure, it would appear as though there could not have been much
+disappointment.
+
+'We shall all catch our death of cold,' said Madame Voss.
+
+'We needn't stay long, you know,' said Michel.  'And, Marie,' said
+he, going into the little office in which his niece was still
+seated, 'Marie, mind you behave yourself.'
+
+'O, I will, Uncle Michel,' she said.  'You shall see.'
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI.
+
+They all sat down together at supper that evening, Marie dispensing
+her soup as usual before she went to the table.  She sat next to her
+uncle on one side, and below her there were vacant seats.  Urmand
+took a chair on the left hand of Madame Voss, next to him was the
+Cure, and below the Cure the happy rival.  It had all been arranged
+by Marie herself, with the greatest care.  Urmand seemed to have got
+over the worst of his trouble, and when Marie came to the table
+bowed to her graciously.  She bowed in return, and then eat her soup
+in silence.  Michel Voss overdid his part a little by too much
+talking, but his wife restored the balance by her prudence.  George
+told them how strong the French party was at Colmar, and explained
+that the Germans had not a leg to stand upon as far as general
+opinion went.  Before the supper was over, Adrian Urmand was talking
+glibly enough; and it really seemed as though the terrible
+misfortunes of the Lion d'Or would arrange themselves comfortably
+after all.  When supper was done, the father, son, and the discarded
+lover smoked their pipes together amicably in the billiard room.
+There was not a word said then by either of them in connection with
+Marie Bromar.
+
+On the next morning the sun was bright, and the air was as warm as
+it ever is in October.  The day, perhaps, might not have been
+selected for an out-of-doors party had there been no special reason
+for such an arrangement; but seeing how strong a reason existed,
+even Madame Voss acknowledged that the morning was favourable.
+While those pipes of peace were being smoked over night, Marie had
+been preparing the hampers.  On the next morning nobody except Marie
+herself was very early.  It was intended that the day should be got
+through at any rate with a pretence of pleasure, and they were all
+to be as idle, and genteel, and agreeable as possible.  It had been
+settled that they should start at twelve.  The drive, unfortunately,
+would not consume much more than half an hour.  Then what with
+unpacking, climbing about the rocks, and throwing stones down into
+the river, they would get through the time till two.  At two they
+would eat their dinner--with all their shawls and greatcoats around
+them--then smoke their cigars, and come back when they found it
+impossible to drag out the day any longer.  Marie was not to talk to
+George, and was to be specially courteous to M. Urmand.  The two old
+ladies accompanied them, as did also M. le Cure Gondin.  The
+programme for the day did not seem to be very delightful; but it
+appeared to Michel Voss that in this way, better than in any other,
+could some little halo be thrown over the parting hours of poor
+Adrian Urmand.
+
+Everything went as well as could have been anticipated.  They
+managed to delay their departure till nearly half-past twelve, and
+were so lost in wonder at the quantity of water running down the
+fall in the ravine, that there had hardly been any heaviness of time
+when they seated themselves on the rocks at half-past two.
+
+'Now for the business of the day,' said Michel, as, standing up, he
+plunged a knife and fork into a large pie which he had placed on a
+boulder before him.  'Marie has got no soup for us here, so we must
+begin with the solids at once.'  Soon after that one cork might have
+been heard to fly, and then another, and no stranger looking on
+would have believed how dreadful had been the enmity existing on the
+previous day--or, indeed, how great a cause for enmity there had
+been.  Michel himself was very hilarious.  If he could only
+obliterate in any way the evil which he had certainly inflicted on
+that unfortunate young man!  'Urmand, my friend, another glass of
+wine.  George, fill our friend Urmand's glass; not so quickly,
+George, not so quickly; you give him nothing but the froth.  Adrian
+Urmand, your very good health.  May you always be a happy and
+successful man!'  So saying, Michel Voss drained his own tumbler.
+
+Urmand, at the moment, was seated in a niche among the rocks, in
+which a cushion out of the carriage had been placed for his special
+accommodation.  Indeed, every comfort and luxury had been showered
+upon his head to compensate him for his lost bride.  This was the
+third time that he had been by name invited to drink his wine, and
+three times he had obeyed.  Now, feeling himself to be summoned in a
+very peculiar way--feeling also, perhaps, that that which might have
+made others drunk had made him bold, he extricated himself from his
+niche, and stood upon his legs among the rocks.  He stood upon his
+legs among the rocks, and with a graceful movement of his arm, waved
+the glass above his head.
+
+'We are delighted to have you here among us, my friend,' said Michel
+Voss, who also, perhaps, had been made bold.  Madame Voss, who was
+close to her husband, pulled him by the sleeve.  Then he seated
+himself, but Adrian Urmand was left standing among them.
+
+'My friend,' said he, 'and you, Madame Voss particularly, I feel
+particularly obliged to you for this charming entertainment.'  Then
+the innkeeper cheered his guest, whereupon Madame Voss pulled her
+husband's sleeve harder than before.  'I am, indeed,' continued
+Urmand.  'The best thing will be,' said he, 'to make a clean breast
+of it at once.  You all know why I came here,--and you all know how
+I'm going back.'  At this moment his voice faltered a little, and he
+almost sobbed.  Both the old ladies immediately put their
+handkerchiefs to their eyes.  Marie blushed and turned away her face
+on to her uncle's shoulder.  Madame Voss remained immovable.  She
+dreaded greatly any symptoms of that courage which follows the
+flying of corks.  In truth, however, she had nothing now to fear.
+'Of course, I feel it a little,' continued Adrian Urmand.  'That is
+only natural.  I suppose it was a mistake; but it has been rather
+trying to me.  But I am ready to forget and forgive, and that is all
+I've got to say.'  This speech, which astonished them all
+exceedingly, remained unanswered for some few moments, during which
+Urmand had sunk back into his niche.  Michel Voss was not ready-
+witted enough to reply to his guest at the moment, and George was
+aware that it would not be fitting for him, the triumphant lover, to
+make any reply.  He could hardly have spoken without showing his
+triumph.  During this short interval no one said a word, and Urmand
+endeavoured to assume a look of gloomy dignity.
+
+But at last Michel Voss got upon his legs, his wife giving him
+various twitches on the sleeve as he did so.  'I never was so much
+affected in my life,' said he, 'and upon my word I think that our
+excellent friend Adrian Urmand has behaved as well in a trying
+difficulty as,--as,--as any man ever did.  I needn't say much about
+it, for we all know what it was.  And we all know that young women
+will be young women, and that they are very hard to manage.'
+'Don't, Uncle Michel' said Marie in a whisper.  But Michel was too
+bold to attend either to whisperings or pullings of the sleeve, and
+went on with his speech.  'There has been a slight mistake, but I
+hope sincerely that everything has now been made right.  Here is our
+friend Adrian Urmand's health, and I am quite sure that we all hope
+that he may get an excellent, beautiful young wife, with a good
+dowry, and that before long.'  Then he too sat down, and all the
+ladies drank to the health and future fortunes of M. Adrian Urmand.
+
+Upon the whole the rejected lover liked it.  At any rate it was
+better so than being alone and moody and despised of all people.  He
+would know now how to get away from Granpere without having to plan
+a surreptitious escape.  Of course he had come out intending to be
+miserable, to be known as an ill-used man who had been treated with
+an amount of cruelty surpassing all that had ever been told of in
+love histories.  To be depressed by the weight of the ill-usage
+which he had borne was a part of the play which he had to act.  But
+the play when acted after this fashion had in it something of
+pleasing excitement, and he felt assured that he was exhibiting
+dignity in very adverse circumstances.  George Voss was probably
+thinking ill of the young man all the while; but every one else
+there conceived that M. Urmand bore himself well under most trying
+circumstances.  After the banquet was over Marie expressed herself
+so much touched as almost to incur the jealousy of her more
+fortunate lover.  When the speeches were finished the men made
+themselves happy with their cigars and wine till Madame Voss
+declared that she was already half-dead with the cold and damp, and
+then they all returned to the inn in excellent spirits.  That which
+had made so bold both Michel and his guest had not been allowed to
+have any more extended or more deleterious effect.
+
+On the next morning M. Urmand returned home to Basle, taking the
+public conveyance as far as Remiremont.  Everybody was up to see him
+off, and Marie herself gave him his cup of coffee at parting.  It
+was pretty to see the mingled grace and shame with which the little
+ceremony was performed.  She hardly said a word; indeed what word
+she did say was heard by no one; but she crossed her hands on her
+breast, and the gravest smile came over her face, and she turned her
+eyes down to the ground, and if any one ever begged pardon without a
+word spoken, Marie Bromar then asked Adrian Urmand to pardon her the
+evil she had wrought upon him.  'O, yes;--of course,' he said.
+'It's all right.  It's all right.'  Then she gave him her hand, and
+said good-bye, and ran away up into her room.  Though she had got
+rid of one lover, not a word had yet been said as to her uncle's
+acceptance of that other lover on her behalf; nor had any words more
+tender been spoken between her and George than those with which the
+reader has been made acquainted.
+
+'And now,' said George, as soon as the diligence had started out of
+the yard.
+
+'Well;--and what now?' asked the father.
+
+'I must be off to Colmar next.'
+
+'Not to-day, George.'
+
+'Yes; to-day;--or this evening at least.  But I must settle
+something first.  What do you say, father?'  Michel Voss stood for a
+while with his hands in his pockets and his head turned away.  'You
+know what I mean, father.'
+
+'O yes; I know what you mean.'
+
+'I don't suppose you'll say anything against it now.'
+
+'It wouldn't be any good, I suppose, if I did,' said Michel,
+crossing over the courtyard to the other part of the establishment.
+He gave no farther permission than this, but George thought that so
+much was sufficient.
+
+George did return to Colmar that evening, being in all matters of
+business a man accurate and resolute; but he did not go till he had
+been thoroughly scolded for his misconduct by Marie Bromar.  'It was
+your fault,' said Marie.  'Your fault from beginning to end.'
+
+'It shall be if you say so,' answered George; 'but I can't say that
+I see it.'
+
+'If a person goes away for more than twelve months and never sends a
+word or a message or a sign, what is a person to think, George?'  He
+could only promise her that he would never leave her again even for
+a month.
+
+How they were married in November, and how Madame Faragon was
+brought over to Granpere with infinite trouble, and how the
+household linen got itself marked at last, with a V instead of a U,
+the reader can understand without the narration of farther details.
+
+
+
+
+
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+<a href="#startoftext">The Golden Lion of Granpere, by Anthony Trollope</a>
+</h2>
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+Title: The Golden Lion of Granpere
+
+Author: Anthony Trollope
+
+Release Date: March, 2004  [EBook #5202]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
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+Language: English
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+</pre>
+<p>
+<a name="startoftext"></a>
+This etext was produced by Les Bowler, St. Ives, Dorset.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+THE GOLDEN LION OF GRANPERE, BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER I.<br>
+<br>
+Up among the Vosges mountains in Lorraine, but just outside the old
+half-German province of Alsace, about thirty miles distant from the
+new and thoroughly French baths of Plombi&egrave;res, there lies the
+village of Granpere.&nbsp; Whatever may be said or thought here in England
+of the late imperial rule in France, it must at any rate be admitted
+that good roads were made under the Empire.&nbsp; Alsace, which twenty
+years ago seems to have been somewhat behindhand in this respect, received
+her full share of Napoleon&rsquo;s attention, and Granpere is now placed
+on an excellent road which runs from the town of Remiremont on one line
+of railway, to Colmar on another.&nbsp; The inhabitants of the Alsatian
+Ballon hills and the open valleys among them seem to think that the
+civilisation of great cities has been brought near enough to them, as
+there is already a diligence running daily from Granpere to Remiremont;
+- and at Remiremont you are on the railway, and, of course, in the middle
+of everything.<br>
+<br>
+And indeed an observant traveller will be led to think that a great
+deal of what may most truly be called civilisation has found its way
+in among the Ballons, whether it travelled thither by the new-fangled
+railways and imperial routes, or found its passage along the valley
+streams before imperial favours had been showered upon the district.&nbsp;
+We are told that when Pastor Oberlin was appointed to his cure as Protestant
+clergyman in the Ban de la Roche a little more than one hundred years
+ago, - that was, in 1767, - this region was densely dark and far behind
+in the world&rsquo;s running as regards all progress.&nbsp; The people
+were ignorant, poor, half-starved, almost savage, destitute of communication,
+and unable to produce from their own soil enough food for their own
+sustenance.&nbsp; Of manufacturing enterprise they understood nothing,
+and were only just far enough advanced in knowledge for the Protestants
+to hate the Catholics, and the Catholics to hate the Protestants.&nbsp;
+Then came that wonderful clergyman, Pastor Oberlin, - he was indeed
+a wonderful clergyman, - and made a great change.&nbsp; Since that there
+have been the two empires, and Alsace has looked up in the world.&nbsp;
+Whether the thanks of the people are more honestly due to Oberlin or
+to the late Emperor, the author of this little story will not pretend
+to say; but he will venture to express his opinion that at present the
+rural Alsatians are a happy, prosperous people, with the burden on their
+shoulders of but few paupers, and fewer gentlemen, - apparently a contented
+people, not ambitious, given but little to politics.&nbsp; Protestants
+and Catholics mingled without hatred or fanaticism, educated though
+not learned, industrious though not energetic, quiet and peaceful, making
+linen and cheese, growing potatoes, importing corn, coming into the
+world, marrying, begetting children, and dying in the wholesome homespun
+fashion which is so sweet to us in that mood of philosophy which teaches
+us to love the country and to despise the town.&nbsp; Whether it be
+better for a people to achieve an even level of prosperity, which is
+shared by all, but which makes none eminent, or to encounter those rough,
+ambitious, competitive strengths which produce both palaces and poor-houses,
+shall not be matter of argument here; but the teller of this story is
+disposed to think that the chance traveller, as long as he tarries at
+Granpere, will insensibly and perhaps unconsciously become an advocate
+of the former doctrine; he will be struck by the comfort which he sees
+around him, and for a while will dispense with wealth, luxury, scholarships,
+and fashion.&nbsp; Whether the inhabitants of these hills and valleys
+will advance to farther progress now that they are again to become German,
+is another question, which the writer will not attempt to answer here.<br>
+<br>
+Granpere in itself is a very pleasing village.&nbsp; Though the amount
+of population and number of houses do not suffice to make it more than
+a village, it covers so large a space of ground as almost to give it
+a claim to town honours.&nbsp; It is perhaps a full mile in length;
+and though it has but one street, there are buildings standing here
+and there, back from the line, which make it seem to stretch beyond
+the narrow confines of a single thoroughfare.&nbsp; In most French villages
+some of the houses are high and spacious, but here they seem almost
+all to be so.&nbsp; And many of them have been constructed after that
+independent fashion which always gives to a house in a street a character
+and importance of its own.&nbsp; They do not stand in a simple line,
+each supported by the strength of its neighbour, but occupy their own
+ground, facing this way or that as each may please, presenting here
+a corner to the main street, and there an end.&nbsp; There are little
+gardens, and big stables, and commodious barns; and periodical paint
+with annual whitewash is not wanting.&nbsp; The unstinted slates shine
+copiously under the sun, and over almost every other door there is a
+large lettered board which indicates that the resident within is a dealer
+in the linen which is produced throughout the country.&nbsp; All these
+things together give to Granpere an air of prosperity and comfort which
+is not at all checked by the fact that there is in the place no mansion
+which we Englishmen would call the gentleman&rsquo;s house, nothing
+approaching to the ascendancy of a parish squire, no baron&rsquo;s castle,
+no manorial hall, - not even a ch&acirc;teau to overshadow the modest
+roofs of the dealers in the linen of the Vosges.<br>
+<br>
+And the scenery round Granpere is very pleasant, though the neighbouring
+hills never rise to the magnificence of mountains or produce that grandeur
+which tourists desire when they travel in search of the beauties of
+Nature.&nbsp; It is a spot to love if you know it well, rather than
+to visit with hopes raised high, and to leave with vivid impressions.&nbsp;
+There is water in abundance; a pretty lake lying at the feet of sloping
+hills, rivulets running down from the high upper lands and turning many
+a modest wheel in their course, a waterfall or two here and there, and
+a so-called mountain summit within an easy distance, from whence the
+sun may be seen to rise among the Swiss mountains; - and distant perhaps
+three miles from the village the main river which runs down the valley
+makes for itself a wild ravine, just where the bridge on the new road
+to M&uuml;nster crosses the water, and helps to excuse the people of
+Granpere for claiming for themselves a great object of natural attraction.&nbsp;
+The bridge and the river and the ravine are very pretty, and perhaps
+justify all that the villagers say of them when they sing to travellers
+the praises of their country.<br>
+<br>
+Whether it be the sale of linen that has produced the large inn at Granpere,
+or the delicious air of the place, or the ravine and the bridge, matters
+little to our story; but the fact of the inn matters very much.&nbsp;
+There it is, - a roomy, commodious building, not easily intelligible
+to a stranger, with its widely distributed parts, standing like an inverted
+V, with its open side towards the main road.&nbsp; On the ground-floor
+on one side are the large stables and coach-house, with a billiard-room
+and <i>caf&eacute;</i> over them, and a long balcony which runs round
+the building; and on the other side there are kitchens and drinking-rooms,
+and over these the chamber for meals and the bedrooms.&nbsp; All large,
+airy, and clean, though, perhaps, not excellently well finished in their
+construction, and furnished with but little pretence to French luxury.&nbsp;
+And behind the inn there are gardens, by no means trim, and a dusty
+summer-house, which serves, however, for the smoking of a cigar; and
+there is generally space and plenty and goodwill.&nbsp; Either the linen,
+or the air, or the ravine, or, as is more probable, the three combined,
+have produced a business, so that the landlord of the Lion d&rsquo;Or
+at Granpere is a thriving man.<br>
+<br>
+The reader shall at once be introduced to the landlord, and informed
+at the same time that, in so far as he may be interested in this story,
+he will have to take up his abode at the Lion d&rsquo;Or till it be
+concluded; not as a guest staying loosely at his inn, but as one who
+is concerned with all the innermost affairs of the household.&nbsp;
+He will not simply eat his plate of soup, and drink his glass of wine,
+and pass on, knowing and caring more for the servant than for the servant&rsquo;s
+master, but he must content himself to sit at the landlord&rsquo;s table,
+to converse very frequently with the landlord&rsquo;s wife, to become
+very intimate with the landlord&rsquo;s son - whether on loving or on
+unloving terms shall be left entirely to himself - and to throw himself,
+with the sympathy of old friendship, into all the troubles and all the
+joys of the landlord&rsquo;s niece.&nbsp; If the reader be one who cannot
+take such a journey, and pass a month or two without the society of
+persons whom he would define as ladies and gentlemen, he had better
+be warned at once, and move on, not setting foot within the Lion d&rsquo;Or
+at Granpere.<br>
+<br>
+Michel Voss, the landlord, in person was at this time a tall, stout,
+active, and very handsome man, about fifty years of age.&nbsp; As his
+son was already twenty-five - and was known to be so throughout the
+commune - people were sure that Michel Voss was fifty or thereabouts;
+but there was very little in his appearance to indicate so many years.&nbsp;
+He was fat and burly to be sure; but then he was not fat to lethargy,
+or burly with any sign of slowness.&nbsp; There was still the spring
+of youth in his footstep, and when there was some weight to be lifted,
+some heavy timber to be thrust here or there, some huge lumbering vehicle
+to be hoisted in or out, there was no arm about the place so strong
+as that of the master.&nbsp; His short, dark, curly hair - that was
+always kept clipped round his head - was beginning to show a tinge of
+gray, but the huge moustache on his upper lip was still of a thorough
+brown, as was also the small morsel of beard which he wore upon his
+chin.&nbsp; He had bright sharp brown eyes, a nose slightly beaked,
+and a large mouth.&nbsp; He was on the whole a man of good temper, just
+withal, and one who loved those who belonged to him; but he chose to
+be master in his own house, and was apt to think that his superior years
+enabled him to know what younger people wanted better than they would
+know themselves.&nbsp; He was loved in his house and respected in his
+village; but there was something in the beak of his nose and the brightness
+of his eye which was apt to make those around him afraid of him.&nbsp;
+And indeed Michel Voss could lose his temper and become an angry man.<br>
+<br>
+Our landlord had been twice married.&nbsp; By his first wife he had
+now living a single son, George Voss, who at the time of our tale had
+already reached his twenty-fifth year.&nbsp; George, however, did not
+at this time live under his father&rsquo;s roof, having taken service
+for a time with the landlady of another inn at Colmar.&nbsp; George
+Voss was known to be a clever young man; many in those parts declared
+that he was much more so than his father; and when he became clerk at
+the Poste in Colmar, and after a year or two had taken into his hands
+almost the entire management of that house - so that people began to
+say that old-fashioned and wretched as it was, money might still be
+made there - people began to say also that Michel Voss had been wrong
+to allow his son to leave Granpere.&nbsp; But in truth there had been
+a few words between the father and the son; and the two were so like
+each other that the father found it difficult to rule, and the son found
+it difficult to be ruled.<br>
+<br>
+George Voss was very like his father, with this difference, as he was
+often told by the old folk about Granpere, that he would never fill
+his father&rsquo;s shoes.&nbsp; He was a smaller man, less tall by a
+couple of inches, less broad in proportion across the shoulders, whose
+arm would never be so strong, whose leg would never grace a tight stocking
+with so full a development.&nbsp; But he had the same eye, bright and
+brown and very quick, the same mouth, the same aquiline nose, the same
+broad forehead and well-shaped chin, and the same look in his face which
+made men know as by instinct that he would sooner command than obey.&nbsp;
+So there had come to be a few words, and George Voss had gone away to
+the house of a cousin of his mother&rsquo;s, and had taken to commanding
+there.<br>
+<br>
+Not that there had been any quarrel between the father and the son;
+nor indeed that George was aware that he had been in the least disobedient
+to his parent.&nbsp; There was no recognised ambition for rule in the
+breasts of either of them.&nbsp; It was simply this, that their tempers
+were alike; and when on an occasion Michel told his son that he would
+not allow a certain piece of folly which the son was, as he thought,
+likely to commit, George declared that he would soon set that matter
+right by leaving Granpere.&nbsp; Accordingly he did leave Granpere,
+and became the right hand, and indeed the head, and backbone, and best
+leg of his old cousin Madame Faragon of the Poste at Colmar.&nbsp; Now
+the matter on which these few words occurred was a question of love
+- whether George Voss should fall in love with and marry his step-mother&rsquo;s
+niece Marie Bromar.&nbsp; But before anything farther can be said of
+these few words, Madame Voss and her niece must be introduced to the
+reader.<br>
+<br>
+Madame Voss was nearly twenty years younger than her husband, and had
+now been a wife some five or six years.&nbsp; She had been brought from
+Epinal, where she had lived with a married sister, a widow, much older
+than herself - in parting from whom on her marriage there had been much
+tribulation.&nbsp; &lsquo;Should anything happen to Marie,&rsquo; she
+had said to Michel Voss, before she gave him her troth, &lsquo;you will
+let Minnie Bromar come to me?&rsquo;&nbsp; Michel Voss, who was then
+hotly in love with his hoped-for bride - hotly in love in spite of his
+four-and-forty years - gave the required promise.&nbsp; The said &lsquo;something&rsquo;
+which had been suspected had happened.&nbsp; Madame Bromar had died,
+and Minnie Bromar her daughter - or Marie as she was always afterwards
+called - had at once been taken into the house at Granpere.&nbsp; Michel
+never thought twice about it when he was reminded of his promise.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;If I hadn&rsquo;t promised at all, she should come the same,&rsquo;
+he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;The house is big enough for a dozen more yet.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+In saying this he perhaps alluded to a little baby that then lay in
+a cradle in his wife&rsquo;s room, by means of which at that time Madame
+Voss was able to make her big husband do pretty nearly anything that
+she pleased.&nbsp; So Marie Bromar, then just fifteen years of age,
+was brought over from Epinal to Granpere, and the house certainly was
+not felt to be too small because she was there.&nbsp; Marie soon learned
+the ways and wishes of her burly, soft-hearted uncle; would fill his
+pipe for him, and hand him his soup, and bring his slippers, and put
+her soft arm round his neck, and became a favourite.&nbsp; She was only
+a child when she came, and Michel thought it was very pleasant; but
+in five years&rsquo; time she was a woman, and Michel was forced to
+reflect that it would not be well that there should be another marriage
+and another family in the house while he was so young himself, - there
+was at this time a third baby in the cradle, - and then Marie Bromar
+had not a franc of <i>dot</i>.&nbsp; Marie was the sweetest eldest daughter
+in the world, but he could not think it right that his son should marry
+a wife before he had done a stroke for himself in the world.&nbsp; Prudence
+made it absolutely necessary that he should say a word to his son.<br>
+<br>
+Madame Voss was certainly nearly twenty years younger than her husband,
+and yet the pair did not look to be ill-sorted.&nbsp; Michel was so
+handsome, strong, and hale; and Madame Voss, though she was a comely
+woman, - though when she was brought home a bride to Granpere the neighbours
+had all declared that she was very handsome, - carried with her a look
+of more years than she really possessed.&nbsp; She had borne many of
+a woman&rsquo;s cares, and had known much of woman&rsquo;s sorrows before
+she had become wife to Michel Voss; and then when the babes came, and
+she had settled down as mistress of that large household, and taught
+herself to regard George Voss and Marie Bromar almost as her own children,
+all idea that she was much younger than her husband departed from her.&nbsp;
+She was a woman who desired to excel her husband in nothing, - if only
+she might be considered to be in some things his equal.&nbsp; There
+was no feeling in the village that Michel Voss had brought home a young
+wife and had made a fool of himself.&nbsp; He was a man entitled to
+have a wife much younger than himself.&nbsp; Madame Voss in those days
+always wore a white cap and a dark stuff gown, which was changed on
+Sundays for one of black silk, and brown mittens on her hands, and she
+went about the house in soft carpet shoes.&nbsp; She was a conscientious,
+useful, but not an enterprising woman; loving her husband much and fearing
+him somewhat; liking to have her own way in certain small matters, but
+willing to be led in other things so long as those were surrendered
+to her; careful with her children, the care of whom seemed to deprive
+her of the power of caring for the business of the inn; kind to her
+niece, good-humoured in her house, and satisfied with the world at large
+as long as she might always be allowed to entertain M. le Cur&eacute;
+at dinner on Sundays.&nbsp; Michel Voss, Protestant though he was, had
+not the slightest objection to giving M. le Cur&eacute; his Sunday dinner,
+on condition that M. le Cur&eacute; on these occasions would confine
+his conversation to open subjects.&nbsp; M. le Cur&eacute; was quite
+willing to eat his dinner and give no offence.<br>
+<br>
+A word too must be said of Marie Bromar before we begin our story.&nbsp;
+Marie Bromar is the heroine of this little tale; and the reader must
+be made to have some idea of her as she would have appeared before him
+had he seen her standing near her uncle in the long room upstairs of
+the hotel at Granpere.&nbsp; Marie had been fifteen when she was brought
+from Epinal to Granpere, and had then been a child; but she had now
+reached her twentieth birthday, and was a woman.&nbsp; She was not above
+the middle height, and might seem to be less indeed in that house, because
+her aunt and her uncle were tall; but she was straight, well made, and
+very active.&nbsp; She was strong and liked to use her strength, and
+was very keen about all the work of the house.&nbsp; During the five
+years of her residence at Granpere she had thoroughly learned the mysteries
+of her uncle&rsquo;s trade.&nbsp; She knew good wine from bad by the
+perfume; she knew whether bread was the full weight by the touch; with
+a glance of her eye she could tell whether the cheese and butter were
+what they ought to be; in a matter of poultry no woman in all the commune
+could take her in; she was great in judging eggs; knew well the quality
+of linen; and was even able to calculate how long the hay should last,
+and what should be the consumption of corn in the stables.&nbsp; Michel
+Voss was well aware before Marie had been a year beneath his roof that
+she well earned the morsel she ate and the drop she drank; and when
+she had been there five years he was ready to swear that she was the
+cleverest girl in Lorraine or Alsace.&nbsp; And she was very pretty,
+with rich brown hair that would not allow itself to be brushed out of
+its crisp half-curls in front, and which she always wore cut short behind,
+curling round her straight, well-formed neck.&nbsp; Her eyes were gray,
+with a strong shade indeed of green, but were very bright and pleasant,
+full of intelligence, telling stories by their glances of her whole
+inward disposition, of her activity, quickness, and desire to have a
+hand in everything that was being done.&nbsp; Her father Jean Bromar
+had come from the same stock with Michel Voss, and she, too, had something
+of that aquiline nose which gave to the innkeeper and his son the look
+which made men dislike to contradict them.&nbsp; Her mouth was large,
+but her teeth were very white and perfect, and her smile was the sweetest
+thing that ever was seen.&nbsp; Marie Bromar was a pretty girl, and
+George Voss, had he lived so near to her and not have fallen in love
+with her, must have been cold indeed.<br>
+<br>
+At the end of these five years Marie had become a woman, and was known
+by all around her to be a woman much stronger, both in person and in
+purpose, than her aunt; but she maintained, almost unconsciously, many
+of the ways in the house which she had assumed when she first entered
+it.&nbsp; Then she had always been on foot, to be everybody&rsquo;s
+messenger, - and so she was now.&nbsp; When her uncle and aunt were
+at their meals she was always up and about, - attending them, attending
+the public guests, attending the whole house.&nbsp; And it seemed as
+though she herself never sat down to eat or drink.&nbsp; Indeed, it
+was rare enough to find her seated at all.&nbsp; She would have a cup
+of coffee standing up at the little desk near the public window when
+she kept her books, or would take a morsel of meat as she helped to
+remove the dishes.&nbsp; She would stand sometimes for a minute leaning
+on the back of her uncle&rsquo;s chair as he sat at his supper, and
+would say, when he bade her to take her chair and eat with them, that
+she preferred picking and stealing.&nbsp; In all things she worshipped
+her uncle, observing his movements, caring for his wants, and carrying
+out his plans.&nbsp; She did not worship her aunt, but she so served
+Madame Voss that had she been withdrawn from the household Madame Voss
+would have found herself altogether unable to provide for its wants.&nbsp;
+Thus Marie Bromar had become the guardian angel of the Lion d&rsquo;Or
+at Granpere.<br>
+<br>
+There must be a word or two more said of the difference between George
+Voss and his father which had ended in sending George to Colmar; a word
+or two about that, and a word also of what occurred between George and
+Marie.&nbsp; Then we shall be able to commence our story without farther
+reference to things past.&nbsp; As Michel Voss was a just, affectionate,
+and intelligent man, he would not probably have objected to a marriage
+between the two young people, had the proposition for such a marriage
+been first submitted to him, with a proper amount of attention to his
+judgment and controlling power.&nbsp; But the idea was introduced to
+him in a manner which taught him to think that there was to be a clandestine
+love affair.&nbsp; To him George was still a boy, and Marie not much
+more than a child, and - without much thinking - he felt that the thing
+was improper.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I won&rsquo;t have it, George,&rsquo; he had said.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Won&rsquo;t have what, father?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Never mind.&nbsp; You know.&nbsp; If you can&rsquo;t get over
+it in any other way, you had better go away.&nbsp; You must do something
+for yourself before you can think of marrying.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am not thinking of marrying.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then what were you thinking of when I saw you with Marie?&nbsp;
+I won&rsquo;t have it for her sake, and I won&rsquo;t have it for mine,
+and I won&rsquo;t have it for your own.&nbsp; You had better go away
+for a while.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll go away to-morrow if you wish it, father.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Michel had turned away, not saying another word; and on the following
+day George did go away, hardly waiting an hour to set in order his part
+of his father&rsquo;s business.&nbsp; For it must be known that George
+had not been an idler in his father&rsquo;s establishment.&nbsp; There
+was a trade of wood-cutting upon the mountain-side, with a saw-mill
+turned by water beneath, over which George had presided almost since
+he had left the school of the commune.&nbsp; When his father told him
+that he was bound to do something before he got married, he could not
+have intended to accuse him of having been hitherto idle.&nbsp; Of the
+wood-cutting and the saw-mill George knew as much as Marie did of the
+poultry and the linen.&nbsp; Michel was wrong, probably, in his attempt
+to separate them.&nbsp; The house was large enough, or if not, there
+was still room for another house to be built in Granpere.&nbsp; They
+would have done well as man and wife.&nbsp; But then the head of a household
+naturally objects to seeing the boys and girls belonging to him making
+love under his nose without any reference to his opinion.&nbsp; &lsquo;Things
+were not made so easy for me,&rsquo; he says to himself, and feels it
+to be a sort of duty to take care that the course of love shall not
+run altogether smooth.&nbsp; George, no doubt, was too abrupt with his
+father; or perhaps it might be the case that he was not sorry to take
+an opportunity of leaving for a while Granpere and Marie Bromar.&nbsp;
+It might be well to see the world; and though Marie Bromar was bright
+and pretty, it might be that there were others abroad brighter and prettier.<br>
+<br>
+His father had spoken to him on one fine September afternoon, and within
+an hour George was with the men who were stripping bark from the great
+pine logs up on the side of the mountain.&nbsp; With them, and with
+two or three others who were engaged at the saw-mills, he remained till
+the night was dark.&nbsp; Then he came down and told something of his
+intentions to his stepmother.&nbsp; He was going to Colmar on the morrow
+with a horse and small cart, and would take with him what clothes he
+had ready.&nbsp; He did not speak to Marie that night, but he said something
+to his father about the timber and the mill.&nbsp; Gaspar Muntz, the
+head woodsman, knew, he said, all about the business.&nbsp; Gaspar could
+carry on the work till it would suit Michel Voss himself to see how
+things were going on.&nbsp; Michel Voss was sore and angry, but he said
+nothing.&nbsp; He sent to his son a couple of hundred francs by his
+wife, but said no word of explanation even to her.&nbsp; On the following
+morning George was off without seeing his father.<br>
+<br>
+But Marie was up to give him his breakfast.&nbsp; &lsquo;What is the
+meaning of this, George?&rsquo; she said.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Father says that I shall be better away from this, - so I&rsquo;m
+going away.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And why will you be better away?&rsquo;&nbsp; To this George
+made no answer.&nbsp; &lsquo;It will be terrible if you quarrel with
+your father.&nbsp; Nothing can be so bad as that.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;We have not quarrelled.&nbsp; That is to say, I have not quarrelled
+with him.&nbsp; If he quarrels with me, I cannot help it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It must be helped,&rsquo; said Marie, as she placed before him
+a mess of eggs which she had cooked for him with her own hands.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I would sooner die than see anything wrong between you two.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Then there was a pause.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is it about me, George?&rsquo;
+she asked boldly.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Father thinks that I love you: - so I do.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Marie paused for a few minutes before she said anything farther.&nbsp;
+She was standing very near to George, who was eating his breakfast heartily
+in spite of the interesting nature of the conversation.&nbsp; As she
+filled his cup a second time, she spoke again.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will never
+do anything, George, if I can help it, to displease my uncle.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But why should it displease him?&nbsp; He wants to have his own
+way in everything.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Of course he does.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He has told me to go; - and I&rsquo;ll go.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve worked
+for him as no other man would work, and have never said a word about
+a share in the business; - and never would.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Is it not all for yourself, George?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And why shouldn&rsquo;t you and I be married if we like it?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I will never like it,&rsquo; said she solemnly, &lsquo;if uncle
+dislikes it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Very well,&rsquo; said George.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is the horse
+ready, and now I&rsquo;m off.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+So he went, starting just as the day was dawning, and no one saw him
+on that morning except Marie Bromar.&nbsp; As soon as he was gone she
+went up to her little room, and sat herself down on her bedside.&nbsp;
+She knew that she loved him, and had been told that she was beloved.&nbsp;
+She knew that she could not lose him without suffering terribly; but
+now she almost feared that it would be necessary that she should lose
+him.&nbsp; His manner had not been tender to her.&nbsp; He had indeed
+said that he loved her, but there had been nothing of the tenderness
+of love in his mode of saying so; - and then he had said no word of
+persistency in the teeth of his father&rsquo;s objection.&nbsp; She
+had declared - thoroughly purposing that her declaration should be true
+- that she would never become his wife in opposition to her uncle&rsquo;s
+wishes; but he, had he been in earnest, might have said something of
+his readiness to attempt at least to overcome his father&rsquo;s objection.&nbsp;
+But he had said not a word, and Marie, as she sat upon her bed, made
+up her mind that it must be all over.&nbsp; But she made up her mind
+also that she would entertain no feeling of anger against her uncle.&nbsp;
+She owed him everything, so she thought - making no account, as George
+had done, of labour given in return.&nbsp; She was only a girl, and
+what was her labour?&nbsp; For a while she resolved that she would give
+a spoken assurance to her uncle that he need fear nothing from her.&nbsp;
+It was natural enough to her that her uncle should desire a better marriage
+for his son.&nbsp; But after a while she reflected that any speech from
+her on such a subject would be difficult, and that it would be better
+that she should hold her tongue.&nbsp; So she held her tongue, and thought
+of George, and suffered; - but still was merry, at least in manner,
+when her uncle spoke to her, and priced the poultry, and counted the
+linen, and made out the visitors&rsquo; bills, as though nothing evil
+had come upon her.&nbsp; She was a gallant girl, and Michel Voss, though
+he could not speak of it, understood her gallantry and made notes of
+it on the note-book of his heart.<br>
+<br>
+In the mean time George Voss was thriving at Colmar, - as the Vosses
+did thrive wherever they settled themselves.&nbsp; But he sent no word
+to his father, - nor did his father send word to him, - though they
+were not more than ten leagues apart.&nbsp; Once Madame Voss went over
+to see him, and brought back word of his well-doing.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER II.<br>
+<br>
+Exactly at eight o&rsquo;clock every evening a loud bell was sounded
+in the hotel of the Lion d&rsquo;Or at Granpere, and all within the
+house sat down together to supper.&nbsp; The supper was spread on a
+long table in the saloon up-stairs, and the room was lighted with camphine
+lamps, - for as yet gas had not found its way to Granpere.&nbsp; At
+this meal assembled not only the guests in the house and the members
+of the family of the landlord, - but also many persons living in the
+village whom it suited to take, at a certain price per month, the chief
+meal of the day, at the house of the innkeeper, instead of eating in
+their own houses a more costly, a less dainty, and probably a lonely
+supper.&nbsp; Therefore when the bell was heard there came together
+some dozen residents of Granpere, mostly young men engaged in the linen
+trade, from their different lodgings, and each took his accustomed seat
+down the sides of the long board, at which, tied in a knot, was placed
+his own napkin.&nbsp; At the top of the table was the place of Madame
+Voss, which she never failed to fill exactly three minutes after the
+bell had been rung.&nbsp; At her right hand was the chair of the master
+of the house, - never occupied by any one else; - but it would often
+happen that some business would keep him away.&nbsp; Since George had
+left him he had taken the timber into his own hands, and was accustomed
+to think and sometimes to say that the necessity was cruel on him.&nbsp;
+Below his chair and on the other side of Madame Voss there would generally
+be two or three places kept for guests who might be specially looked
+upon as the intimate friends of the mistress of the house; and at the
+farther end of the table, close to the window, was the space allotted
+to travellers.&nbsp; Here the napkins were not tied in knots, but were
+always clean.&nbsp; And, though the little plates of radishes, cakes,
+and dried fruits were continued from one of the tables to the other,
+the long-necked thin bottles of common wine came to an end before they
+reached the strangers&rsquo; portion of the board; for it had been found
+that strangers would take at that hour either tea or a better kind of
+wine than that which Michel Voss gave to his accustomed guests without
+any special charge.&nbsp; When, however, the stranger should please
+to take the common wine, he was by no means thereby prejudiced in the
+eyes of Madame Voss or her husband.&nbsp; Michel Voss liked a profit,
+but he liked the habits of his country almost as well.<br>
+<br>
+One evening in September, about twelve months after the departure of
+George, Madame Voss took her seat at the table, and the young men of
+the place who had been waiting round the door of the hotel for a few
+minutes, followed her into the room.&nbsp; And there was M. Goudin,
+the Cur&eacute;, with another young clergyman, his friend.&nbsp; On
+Sundays the Cur&eacute; always dined at the hotel at half-past twelve
+o&rsquo;clock, as the friend of the family; but for his supper he paid,
+as did the other guests.&nbsp; I rather fancy that on week days he had
+no particular dinner; and indeed there was no such formal meal given
+in the house of Michel Voss on week days.&nbsp; There was something
+put on the table about noon in the little room between the kitchen and
+the public window; but except on Sundays it could hardly be called a
+dinner.&nbsp; On Sundays a real dinner was served in the room up-stairs,
+with soup, and removes, and <i>entr&eacute;es</i> and the <i>r&ocirc;ti,</i>
+all in the right place, - which showed that they knew what a dinner
+was at the Lion d&rsquo;Or; - but, throughout the week, supper was the
+meal of the day.&nbsp; After M. Goudin, on this occasion, there came
+two maiden ladies from Epinal who were lodging at Granpere for change
+of air.&nbsp; They seated themselves near to Madame Voss, but still
+leaving a place or two vacant.&nbsp; And presently at the bottom of
+the table there came an Englishman and his wife, who were travelling
+through the country; and so the table was made up.&nbsp; A lad of about
+fifteen, who was known in Granpere as the waiter at the Lion d&rsquo;Or,
+looked after the two strangers and the young men, and Marie Bromar,
+who herself had arranged the board, stood at the top of the room, by
+a second table, and dispensed the soup.&nbsp; It was pleasant to watch
+her eyes, as she marked the moment when the dispensing should begin,
+and counted her guests, thoughtful as to the sufficiency of the dishes
+to come; and noticed that Edmond Greisse had sat down with such dirty
+hands that she must bid her uncle to warn the lad; and observed that
+the more elderly of the two ladies from Epinal had bread too hard to
+suit her, - which should be changed as soon as the soup had been dispensed.&nbsp;
+She looked round, and even while dispensing saw everything.&nbsp; It
+was suggested in the last chapter that another house might have been
+built in Granpere, and that George Voss might have gone there, taking
+Marie as his bride; but the Lion d&rsquo;Or would sorely have missed
+those quick and careful eyes.<br>
+<br>
+Then, when that dispensing of the soup was concluded, Michel entered
+the room bringing with him a young man.&nbsp; The young man had evidently
+been expected; for, when he took the place close at the left hand of
+Madame Voss, she simply bowed to him, saying some word of courtesy as
+Michel took his place on the other side.&nbsp; Then Marie dispensed
+two more portions of soup, and leaving one on the farther table for
+the boy to serve, though she could well have brought the two, waited
+herself upon her uncle.&nbsp; &lsquo;And is Urmand to have no soup?&rsquo;
+said Michel Voss, as he took his niece lovingly by the hand.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Peter is bringing it,&rsquo; said Marie.&nbsp; And in a moment
+or two Peter the waiter did bring the young man his soup.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And will not Mademoiselle Marie sit down with us?&rsquo; said
+the young man.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If you can make her, you have more influence than I,&rsquo; said
+Michel.&nbsp; &lsquo;Marie never sits, and never eats, and never drinks.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+She was standing now close behind her uncle with both her hands upon
+his head; and she would often stand so after the supper was commenced,
+only moving to attend upon him, or to supplement the services of Peter
+and the maid-servant when she perceived that they were becoming for
+a time inadequate to their duties.&nbsp; She answered her uncle now
+by gently pulling his ears, but she said nothing.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Sit down with us, Marie, to oblige me,&rsquo; said Madame Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I had rather not, aunt.&nbsp; It is foolish to sit at supper
+and not eat.&nbsp; I have taken my supper already.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then
+she moved away, and hovered round the two strangers at the end of the
+room.&nbsp; After supper Michel Voss and the young man - Adrian Urmand
+by name - lit their cigars and seated themselves on a bench outside
+the front door.&nbsp; &lsquo;Have you never said a word to her?&rsquo;
+said Michel.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well; - a word; yes.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But you have not asked her - ; you know what I mean; - asked
+her whether she could love you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well, - yes.&nbsp; I have said as much as that, but I have never
+got an answer.&nbsp; And when I did ask her, she merely left me.&nbsp;
+She is not much given to talking.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She will not make the worse wife, my friend, because she is not
+much given to such talking as that.&nbsp; When she is out with me on
+a Sunday afternoon she has chat enough.&nbsp; By St. James, she&rsquo;ll
+talk for two hours without stopping when I&rsquo;m so out of breath
+with the hill that I haven&rsquo;t a word.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t doubt she can talk.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That she can; and manage a house better than any girl I ever
+saw.&nbsp; You ask her aunt.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I know what her aunt thinks of her.&nbsp; Madame Voss says that
+neither you nor she can afford to part with her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Michel Voss was silent for a moment.&nbsp; It was dusk, and no one could
+see him as he brushed a tear from each eye with the back of his hand.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I&rsquo;ll tell you what, Urmand, - it will break my heart to
+lose her.&nbsp; Do you see how she comes to me and comforts me?&nbsp;
+But if it broke my heart, and broke the house too, I would not keep
+her here.&nbsp; It isn&rsquo;t fit.&nbsp; If you like her, and she can
+like you, it will be a good match for her.&nbsp; You have my leave to
+ask her.&nbsp; She brought nothing here, but she has been a good girl,
+a very good girl, and she will not leave the house empty-handed.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Adrian Urmand was a linen-buyer from Basle, and was known to have a
+good share in a good business.&nbsp; He was a handsome young man too,
+though rather small, and perhaps a little too apt to wear rings on his
+fingers and to show jewelry on his shirt-front and about his waistcoat.&nbsp;
+So at least said some of the young people of Granpere, where rings and
+gold studs are not so common as they are at Basle.&nbsp; But he was
+one who understood his business, and did not neglect it; he had money
+too; and was therefore such a young man that Michel Voss felt that he
+might give his niece to him without danger, if he and she could manage
+to like each other sufficiently.&nbsp; As to Urmand&rsquo;s liking,
+there was no doubt.&nbsp; Urmand was ready enough.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I will see if she will speak to me just now,&rsquo; said Urmand
+after a pause.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Shall her aunt try it, or shall I do it?&rsquo; said Michel.<br>
+<br>
+But Adrian Urmand thought that part of the pleasure of love lay in the
+making of it himself.&nbsp; So he declined the innkeeper&rsquo;s offer,
+at any rate for the present occasion.&nbsp; &lsquo;Perhaps,&rsquo; said
+he, &lsquo;Madame Voss will say a word for me after I have spoken for
+myself.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;So let it be,&rsquo; said the landlord.&nbsp; And then they finished
+their cigars in silence.<br>
+<br>
+It was in vain that Adrian Urmand tried that night to obtain audience
+from Marie.&nbsp; Marie, as though she well knew what was wanted of
+her and was determined to thwart her lover, would not allow herself
+to be found alone for a moment.&nbsp; When Adrian presented himself
+at the window of her little bar, he found that Peter was with her, and
+she managed to keep Peter with her till Adrian was gone.&nbsp; And again,
+when he hoped to find her alone for a few moments after the work of
+the day was over in the small parlour where she was accustomed to sit
+for some half hour before she would go up to her room, he was again
+disappointed.&nbsp; She was already up-stairs with her aunt and the
+children, and all Michel Voss&rsquo;s good nature in keeping out of
+the way was of no avail.<br>
+<br>
+But Urmand was determined not to be beaten.&nbsp; He intended to return
+to Basle on the next day but one, and desired to put this matter a little
+in forwardness before he took his departure.&nbsp; On the following
+morning he had various appointments to keep with countrymen and their
+wives, who sold linen to him, but he was quick over his business and
+managed to get back to the inn early in the afternoon.&nbsp; From six
+till eight he well knew that Marie would allow nothing to impede her
+in the grand work of preparing for supper; but at four o&rsquo;clock
+she would certainly be sitting somewhere about the house with her needle
+in her hand.&nbsp; At four o&rsquo;clock he found her, not with her
+needle in her hand, but, better still, perfectly idle.&nbsp; She was
+standing at an open window, looking out upon the garden as he came behind
+her, standing motionless with both hands on the sill of the window,
+thinking deeply of something that filled her mind.&nbsp; It might be
+that she was thinking of him.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I have done with my customers now, and I shall be off to Basle
+to-morrow,&rsquo; said he, as soon as she had looked round at the sound
+of his footsteps and perceived that he was close to her.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I hope you have bought your goods well, M. Urmand.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Ah! for the matter of that the time for buying things well is
+clean gone.&nbsp; One used to be able to buy well; but there is not
+an old woman now in Alsace who doesn&rsquo;t know as well as I do, or
+better, what linen is worth in Berne and Paris.&nbsp; They expect to
+get nearly as much for it here at Granpere.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;They work hard, M. Urmand, and things are dearer than they were.&nbsp;
+It is well that they should get a price for their labour.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;A price, yes: - but how is a man to buy without a profit?&nbsp;
+They think that I come here for their sakes, - merely to bring the market
+to their doors.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then he began to remember that he had no
+special object in discussing the circumstances of his trade with Marie
+Bromar, and that he had a special object in another direction.&nbsp;
+But how to turn the subject was now a difficulty.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am sure you do not buy without a profit,&rsquo; said Marie
+Bromar, when she found that he was silent.&nbsp; &lsquo;And then the
+poor people, who have to pay so dear for everything!&rsquo;&nbsp; She
+was making a violent attempt to keep him on the ground of his customers
+and his purchases.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;There was another thing that I wanted to say to you, Marie,&rsquo;
+he began at last abruptly.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Another thing,&rsquo; said Marie, knowing that the hour had come.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; - another thing.&nbsp; I daresay you know what it is.&nbsp;
+I need not tell you now that I love you, need I, Marie?&nbsp; You know
+as well as I do what I think of you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, I don&rsquo;t,&rsquo; said Marie, not intending to encourage
+him to tell her, but simply saying that which came easiest to her at
+the moment.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I think this, - that if you will consent to be my wife, I shall
+be a very happy man.&nbsp; That is all.&nbsp; Everybody knows how pretty
+you are, and how good, and how clever; but I do not think that anybody
+loves you better than I do.&nbsp; Can you say that you will love me,
+Marie?&nbsp; Your uncle approves of it, - and your aunt.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+He had now come quite close to her, and having placed his hand behind
+her back, was winding his arm round her waist.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I will not have you do that, M. Urmand,&rsquo; she said, escaping
+from his embrace.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But that is no answer.&nbsp; Can you love me, Marie?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No,&rsquo; she said, hardly whispering the word between her teeth.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And is that to be all?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What more can I say?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But your uncle wishes it, and your aunt.&nbsp; Dear Marie, can
+you not try to love me?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I know they wish it.&nbsp; It is easy enough for a girl to see
+when such things are wished or when they are forbidden.&nbsp; Of course
+I know that uncle wishes it.&nbsp; And he is very good; - and so are
+you, I daresay.&nbsp; And I&rsquo;m sure I ought to be very proud, because
+you are so much above me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am not a bit above you.&nbsp; If you knew what I think, you
+wouldn&rsquo;t say so.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But - &rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well, Marie.&nbsp; Think a moment, dearest, before you give me
+an answer that shall make me either happy or miserable.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I have thought.&nbsp; I would almost burn myself in the fire,
+if uncle wished it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And he does wish this.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But I cannot do this even because he wishes it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why not, Marie?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I prefer being as I am.&nbsp; I do not wish to leave the hotel,
+or to be married at all.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nay, Marie, you will certainly be married some day.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No; there is no such certainty.&nbsp; Some girls never get married.&nbsp;
+I am of use here, and I am happy here.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Ah! it is because you cannot love me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t suppose I shall ever love any one, not in that
+way.&nbsp; I must go away now, M. Urmand, because I am wanted below.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+She did go, and Adrian Urmand spoke no farther word of love to her on
+that occasion.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I will speak to her about it myself,&rsquo; said Michel Voss,
+when he heard his young friend&rsquo;s story that evening, seated again
+upon the bench outside the door, and smoking another cigar.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It will be of no use,&rsquo; said Adrian.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;One never knows,&rsquo; said Michel.&nbsp; &lsquo;Young women
+are queer cattle to take to market.&nbsp; One can never be quite certain
+which way they want to go.&nbsp; After you are off to-morrow, I will
+have a few words with her.&nbsp; She does not quite understand as yet
+that she must make her hay while the sun shines.&nbsp; Some of &lsquo;em
+are all in a hurry to get married, and some of &lsquo;em again are all
+for hanging back, when their friends wish it.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s natural,
+I believe, that they should be contrary.&nbsp; But Marie is as good
+as the best of them, and when I speak to her, she&rsquo;ll hear reason.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Adrian Urmand had no alternative but to assent to the innkeeper&rsquo;s
+proposition.&nbsp; The idea of making love second-hand was not pleasant
+to him; but he could not hinder the uncle from speaking his mind to
+the niece.&nbsp; One little suggestion he did make before he took his
+departure.&nbsp; &lsquo;It can&rsquo;t be, I suppose, that there is
+any one else that she likes better?&rsquo;&nbsp; To this Michel Voss
+made no answer in words, but shook his head in a fashion that made Adrian
+feel assured that there was no danger on that head.<br>
+<br>
+But Michel Voss, though he had shaken his head in a manner so satisfactory,
+had feared that there was such danger.&nbsp; He had considered himself
+justified in shaking his head, but would not be so false as to give
+in words the assurance which Adrian had asked.&nbsp; That night he discussed
+the matter with his wife, declaring it as his purpose that Marie Bromar
+should marry Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is impossible that she should
+do better,&rsquo; said Michel.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It would be very well,&rsquo; said Madame Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Very well!&nbsp; Why, he is worth thirty thousand francs, and
+is as steady at his business as his father was before him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He is a dandy.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Psha! that is nothing!&rsquo; said Michel.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And he is too fond of money.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is a fault on the right side,&rsquo; said Michel.&nbsp; &lsquo;His
+wife and children will not come to want.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Madame Voss paused a moment before she made her last and grand objection
+to the match.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is my belief,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;that
+Marie is always thinking of George.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then she had better cease to think of him,&rsquo; said Michel;
+&lsquo;for George is not thinking of her.&rsquo;&nbsp; He said nothing
+farther, but resolved to speak his own mind freely to Marie Bromar.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER III.<br>
+<br>
+The old-fashioned inn at Colmar, at which George Voss was acting as
+assistant and chief manager to his father&rsquo;s distant cousin, Madame
+Faragon, was a house very different in all its belongings from the Lion
+d&rsquo;Or at Granpere.&nbsp; It was very much larger, and had much
+higher pretensions.&nbsp; It assumed to itself the character of a first-class
+hotel; and when Colmar was without a railway, and was a great posting-station
+on the high road from Strasbourg to Lyons, there was some real business
+at the H&ocirc;tel de la Poste in that town.&nbsp; At present, though
+Colmar may probably have been benefited by the railway, the inn has
+faded, and is in its yellow leaf.&nbsp; Travellers who desire to see
+the statue which a grateful city has erected to the memory of its most
+illustrious citizen, General Rapp, are not sufficient in number to keep
+a first-class hotel in the glories of fresh paint and smart waiters;
+and when you have done with General Rapp, there is not much to interest
+you in Colmar.&nbsp; But there is the hotel; and poor fat, unwieldy
+Madame Faragon, though she grumbles much, and declares that there is
+not a sou to be made, still keeps it up, and bears with as much bravery
+as she can the buffets of a world which seems to her to be becoming
+less prosperous and less comfortable and more exacting every day.&nbsp;
+In her younger years, a posting-house in such a town was a posting-house;
+and when M. Faragon married her, the heiress of the then owner of the
+business, he was supposed to have done uncommonly well for himself.&nbsp;
+Madame Faragon is now a childless widow, and sometimes declares that
+she will shut the house up and have done with it.&nbsp; Why maintain
+a business without a profit, simply that there may be an H&ocirc;tel
+de la Poste at Colmar?&nbsp; But there are old servants whom she has
+not the heart to send away; and she has at any rate a roof of her own
+over her head; and though she herself is unconscious that it is so,
+she has many ties to the old business; and now, since her young cousin
+George Voss has been with her, things go a little better.&nbsp; She
+is not robbed so much, and the people of the town, finding that they
+can get a fair bottle of wine and a good supper, come to the inn; and
+at length an omnibus has been established, and there is a little glimmer
+of returning prosperity.<br>
+<br>
+It is a large old rambling house, built round an irregularly-shaped
+court, with another court behind it; and in both courts the stables
+and coach-houses seem to be so mixed with the kitchens and entrances,
+that one hardly knows what part of the building is equine and what part
+human.&nbsp; Judging from the smell which pervades the lower quarters,
+and, alas, also too frequently the upper rooms, one would be inclined
+to say that the horses had the best of it.&nbsp; The defect had been
+pointed out to Madame Faragon more than once; but that lady, though
+in most of the affairs of life her temper is gentle and kindly, cannot
+hear with equanimity an insinuation that any portion of her house is
+either dirty or unsweet.&nbsp; Complaints have reached her that the
+beds were - well, inhabited - but no servant now dares to hint at anything
+wrong in this particular.&nbsp; If this traveller or that says a word
+to her personally in complaint, she looks as sour as death, and declines
+to open her mouth in reply; but when that traveller&rsquo;s back is
+turned, the things that Madame Faragon can say about the upstart coxcombry
+of the wretch, and as to the want of all real comforts which she is
+sure prevails in the home quarters of that ill-starred complaining traveller,
+are proof to those who hear them that the old landlady has not as yet
+lost all her energy.&nbsp; It need not be doubted that she herself religiously
+believes that no foul perfume has ever pervaded the sanctity of her
+chambers, and that no living thing has ever been seen inside the sheets
+of her beds, except those guests whom she has allocated to the different
+rooms.<br>
+<br>
+Matters had not gone very easily with George Voss in all the changes
+he had made during the last year.&nbsp; Some things he was obliged to
+do without consulting Madame Faragon at all.&nbsp; Then she would discover
+what was going on, and there would be a &lsquo;few words.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+At other times he would consult her, and carry his purpose only after
+much perseverance.&nbsp; Twice or thrice he had told her that he must
+go away, and then with many groans she had acceded to his propositions.&nbsp;
+It had been necessary to expend two thousand francs in establishing
+the omnibus, and in that affair the appearance of things had been at
+one time quite hopeless.&nbsp; And then when George had declared that
+the altered habits of the people required that the hour of the morning
+<i>table-d&rsquo;h&ocirc;te</i> should be changed from noon to one,
+she had sworn that she would not give way.&nbsp; She would never lend
+her assent to such vile idleness.&nbsp; It was already robbing the business
+portion of the day of an hour.&nbsp; She would wrap her colours round
+her and die upon the ground sooner than yield.&nbsp; &lsquo;Then they
+won&rsquo;t come,&rsquo; said George, &lsquo;and it&rsquo;s no use you
+having the table then.&nbsp; They will all go to the H&ocirc;tel de
+l&rsquo;Imp&eacute;ratrice.&rsquo;&nbsp; This was a new house, the very
+mention of which was a dagger-thrust into the bosom of Madame Faragon.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Then they will be poisoned,&rsquo; she said.&nbsp; &lsquo;And
+let them!&nbsp; It is what they are fit for.&rsquo;&nbsp; But the change
+was made, and for the first three days she would not come out of her
+room.&nbsp; When the bell was rung at the obnoxious hour, she stopped
+her ears with her two hands.<br>
+<br>
+But though there had been these contests, Madame Faragon had made more
+than one effort to induce George Voss to become her partner and successor
+in the house.&nbsp; If he would only bring in a small sum of money -
+a sum which must be easily within his father&rsquo;s reach - he should
+have half the business now, and all of it when Madame Faragon had gone
+to her rest.&nbsp; Or if he would prefer to give Madame Faragon a pension
+- a moderate pension - she would give up the house at once.&nbsp; At
+these tender moments she used to say that he probably would not begrudge
+her a room in which to die.&nbsp; But George Voss would always say that
+he had no money, that he could not ask his father for money, and that
+he had not made up his mind to settle at Colmar.&nbsp; Madame Faragon,
+who was naturally much interested in the matter, and was moreover not
+without curiosity, could never quite learn how matters stood at Granpere.&nbsp;
+A word or two she had heard in a circuitous way of Marie Bromar, but
+from George himself she could never learn anything of his affairs at
+home.&nbsp; She had asked him once or twice whether it would not be
+well that he should marry, but he had always replied that he did not
+think of such a thing - at any rate as yet.&nbsp; He was a steady young
+man, given more to work than to play, and apparently not inclined to
+amuse himself with the girls of the neighbourhood.<br>
+<br>
+One day Edmond Greisse was over at Colmar - Edmond Greisse, the lad
+whose untidy appearance at the supper-table at the Lion d&rsquo;Or had
+called down the rebuke of Marie Bromar.&nbsp; He had been sent over
+on some business by his employer, and had come to get his supper and
+bed at Madame Faragon&rsquo;s hotel.&nbsp; He was a modest, unassuming
+lad, and had been hardly more than a boy when George Voss had left Granpere.&nbsp;
+From time to time George had seen some friend from the village, and
+had thus heard tidings from home.&nbsp; Once, as has been said, Madame
+Voss had made a pilgrimage to Madame Faragon&rsquo;s establishment to
+visit him; but letters between the houses had not been frequent.&nbsp;
+Though postage in France - or shall we say Germany? - is now almost
+as low as in England, these people of Alsace have not yet fallen into
+the way of writing to each other when it occurs to any of them that
+a word may be said.&nbsp; Young Greisse had seen the landlady, who now
+never went upstairs among her guests, and had had his chamber allotted
+to him, and was seated at the supper-table, before he met George Voss.&nbsp;
+It was from Madame Faragon that George heard of his arrival.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;There is a neighbour of yours from Granpere in the house,&rsquo;
+said she.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;From Granpere?&nbsp; And who is he?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I forget the lad&rsquo;s name; but he says that your father is
+well, and Madame Voss.&nbsp; He goes back early to-morrow with the roulage
+and some goods that his people have bought.&nbsp; I think he is at supper
+now.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+The place of honour at the top of the table at the Colmar inn was not
+in these days assumed by Madame Faragon.&nbsp; She had, alas, become
+too stout to do so with either grace or comfort, and always took her
+meals, as she always lived, in the little room downstairs, from which
+she could see, through the apertures of two doors, all who came in and
+all who went out by the chief entrance of the hotel.&nbsp; Nor had George
+usurped the place.&nbsp; It had now happened at Colmar, as it has come
+to pass at most hotels, that the public table is no longer the <i>table-d&rsquo;h&ocirc;te.</i>&nbsp;
+The end chair was occupied by a stout, dark man, with a bald head and
+black beard, who was proudly filling a place different from that of
+his neighbours, and who would probably have gone over to the H&ocirc;tel
+de l&rsquo;Imp&eacute;ratrice had anybody disturbed him.&nbsp; On the
+present occasion George seated himself next to the lad, and they were
+soon discussing all the news from Granpere.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And how is Marie Bromar?&rsquo; George asked at last.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You have heard about her, of course,&rsquo; said Edmond Greisse.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Heard what?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She is going to be married.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Minnie Bromar to be married?&nbsp; And to whom?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Edmond at once understood that his news was regarded as being important,
+and made the most of it.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O dear, yes.&nbsp; It was settled last week when he was there.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But who is he?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Adrian Urmand, the linen-buyer from Basle.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Marie to be married to Adrian Urmand?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Urmand&rsquo;s journeys to Granpere had been commenced before George
+Voss had left the place, and therefore the two young men had known each
+other.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;They say he&rsquo;s very rich,&rsquo; said Edmond.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I thought he cared for nobody but himself.&nbsp; And are you
+sure?&nbsp; Who told you?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am quite sure; but I do not know who told me.&nbsp; They are
+all talking about it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Did my father ever tell you?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, he never told me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Or Marie herself?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, she did not tell me.&nbsp; Girls never tell those sort of
+things of themselves.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nor Madame Voss?&rsquo; asked George.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She never talks much about anything.&nbsp; But you may be sure
+it&rsquo;s true.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll tell you who told me first, and he
+is sure to know, because he lives in the house.&nbsp; It was Peter Veque.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Peter Veque, indeed!&nbsp; And who do you think would tell him?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But isn&rsquo;t it quite likely?&nbsp; She has grown to be such
+a beauty!&nbsp; Everybody gives it to her that she is the prettiest
+girl round Granpere.&nbsp; And why shouldn&rsquo;t he marry her?&nbsp;
+If I had a lot of money, I&rsquo;d only look to get the prettiest girl
+I could find anywhere.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+After this, George said nothing farther to the young man as to the marriage.&nbsp;
+If it was talked about as Edmond said, it was probably true.&nbsp; And
+why should it not be true?&nbsp; Even though it were true, no one would
+have cared to tell him.&nbsp; She might have been married twice over,
+and no one in Granpere would have sent him word.&nbsp; So he declared
+to himself.&nbsp; And yet Marie Bromar had once sworn to him that she
+loved him, and would be his for ever and ever; and, though he had left
+her in dudgeon, with black looks, without a kind word of farewell, yet
+he had believed her.&nbsp; Through all his sojourn at Colmar he had
+told himself that she would be true to him.&nbsp; He believed it, though
+he was hardly sure of himself - had hardly resolved that he would ever
+go back to Granpere to seek her.&nbsp; His father had turned him out
+of the house, and Marie had told him as he went that she would never
+marry him if her uncle disapproved it.&nbsp; Slight as her word had
+been on that morning of his departure, it had rankled in his bosom,
+and made him angry with her through a whole twelvemonth.&nbsp; And yet
+he had believed that she would be true to him!<br>
+<br>
+He went out in the evening when it was dusk and walked round and round
+the public garden of Colmar, thinking of the news which he had heard
+- the public garden, in which stands the statue of General Rapp.&nbsp;
+It was a terrible blow to him.&nbsp; Though he had remained a whole
+year in Colmar without seeing Marie, or hearing of her, without hardly
+ever having had her name upon his lips, without even having once assured
+himself during the whole time that the happiness of his life would depend
+on the girl&rsquo;s constancy to him, - now that he heard that she was
+to be married to another man, he was torn to pieces by anger and regret.&nbsp;
+He had sworn to love her, and had never even spoken a word of tenderness
+to another girl.&nbsp; She had given him her plighted troth, and now
+she was prepared to break it with the first man who asked her!&nbsp;
+As he thought of this, his brow became black with anger.&nbsp; But his
+regrets were as violent.&nbsp; What a fool he had been to leave her
+there, open to persuasion from any man who came in the way, open to
+persuasion from his father, who would, of course, be his enemy.&nbsp;
+How, indeed, could he expect that she should be true to him?&nbsp; The
+year had been long enough to him, but it must have been doubly long
+to her.&nbsp; He had expected that his father would send for him, would
+write to him, would at least transmit to him some word that would make
+him know that his presence was again desired at Granpere.&nbsp; But
+his father had been as proud as he was, and had not sent any such message.&nbsp;
+Or rather, perhaps, the father being older and less impatient, had thought
+that a temporary absence from Granpere might be good for his son.<br>
+<br>
+It was late at night when George Voss went to bed, but he was up in
+the morning early to see Edmond Greisse before the roulage should start
+for M&uuml;nster on its road to Granpere.&nbsp; Early times in that
+part of the world are very early, and the roulage was ready in the back
+court of the inn at half-past four in the morning.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What? you up at this hour?&rsquo; said Edmond.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why not?&nbsp; It is not every day we have a friend here from
+Granpere, so I thought I would see you off.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That is kind of you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Give my love to them at the old house, Edmond.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Of course I will.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;To father, and Madame Voss, and the children, and to Marie.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;All right.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Tell Marie that you have told me of her marriage.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know whether she&rsquo;ll like to talk about that
+to me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Never mind; you tell her.&nbsp; She won&rsquo;t bite you.&nbsp;
+Tell her also that I shall be over at Granpere soon to see her and the
+rest of them.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ll be over - as soon as ever I can get away.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Shall I tell your father that?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No.&nbsp; Tell Marie, and let her tell my father.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And when will you come?&nbsp; We shall all be so glad to see
+you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Never you mind that.&nbsp; You just give my message.&nbsp; Come
+in for a moment to the kitchen.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s a cup of coffee
+for you and a slice of ham.&nbsp; We are not going to let an old friend
+like you go away without breaking his fast.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+As Greisse had already paid his modest bill, amounting altogether to
+little more than three francs, this was kind of the young landlord,
+and while he was eating his bread and ham he promised faithfully that
+he would give the message just as George had given it to him.<br>
+<br>
+It was on the third day after the departure of Edmond Greisse that George
+told Madame Faragon that he was going home.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Going where, George?&rsquo; said Madame Faragon, leaning forward
+on the table before her, and looking like a picture of despair.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;To Granpere, Madame Faragon.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;To Granpere! and why? and when? and how?&nbsp; O dear!&nbsp;
+Why did you not tell me before, child?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I told you as soon as I knew.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But you are not going yet?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;On Monday.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O dear!&nbsp; So soon as that!&nbsp; Lord bless me!&nbsp; We
+can&rsquo;t do anything before Monday.&nbsp; And when will you be back?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I cannot say with certainty.&nbsp; I shall not be long, I daresay.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And have they sent for you?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, they have not sent for me, but I want to see them once again.&nbsp;
+And I must make up my mind what to do for the future.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t leave me, George; pray do not leave me!&rsquo; exclaimed
+Madame Faragon.&nbsp; &lsquo;You shall have the business now if you
+choose to take it - only pray don&rsquo;t leave me!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+George explained that at any rate he would not desert her now at once;
+and on the Monday named he started for Granpere.&nbsp; He had not been
+very quick in his action, for a week had passed since he had given Edmond
+Greisse his breakfast in the hotel kitchen.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER IV.<br>
+<br>
+Adrian Urmand had been three days gone from Granpere before Michel Voss
+found a fitting opportunity for talking to his niece.&nbsp; It was not
+a matter, as he thought, in which there was need for any great hurry,
+but there was need for much consideration.&nbsp; Once again he spoke
+on the subject to his wife.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If she&rsquo;s thinking about George, she has kept it very much
+to herself,&rsquo; he remarked.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Girls do keep it to themselves,&rsquo; said Madame Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I&rsquo;m not so sure of that.&nbsp; They generally show it somehow.&nbsp;
+Marie never looks lovelorn.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t believe a bit of it;
+and as for him, all the time he has been away he has never so much as
+sent a word of a message to one of us.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He sent his love to you, when I saw him, quite dutifully,&rsquo;
+said Madame Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why don&rsquo;t he come and see us if he cares for us?&nbsp;
+It isn&rsquo;t of him that Marie is thinking.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It isn&rsquo;t of anybody else then,&rsquo; said Madame Voss.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I never see her speak a word to any of the young men, nor one
+of them ever speaking a word to her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Pondering over all this, Michel Voss resolved that he would have it
+all out with his niece on the following Sunday.<br>
+<br>
+On the Sunday he engaged Marie to start with him after dinner to the
+place on the hillside where they were cutting wood.&nbsp; It was a beautiful
+autumn afternoon, in that pleasantest of all months in the year, when
+the sun is not too hot, and the air is fresh and balmy, and one is still
+able to linger abroad, loitering either in or out of the shade, when
+the midges cease to bite, and the sun no longer scorches and glares;
+but the sweet vestiges of summer remain, and everything without doors
+is pleasant and friendly, and there is the gentle unrecognised regret
+for the departing year, the unconscious feeling that its glory is going
+from us, to add the inner charm of a soft melancholy to the outer luxury
+of the atmosphere.&nbsp; I doubt whether Michel Voss had ever realised
+the fact that September is the kindliest of all the months, but he felt
+it, and enjoyed the leisure of his Sunday afternoon when he could get
+his niece to take a stretch with him on the mountain-side.&nbsp; On
+these occasions Madame Voss was left at home with M. le Cur&eacute;,
+who liked to linger over his little cup of coffee.&nbsp; Madame Voss,
+indeed, seldom cared to walk very far from the door of her own house;
+and on Sundays to go to the church and back again was certainly sufficient
+exercise.<br>
+<br>
+Michel Voss said no word about Adrian Urmand as they were ascending
+the hill.&nbsp; He was too wise for that.&nbsp; He could not have given
+effect to his experience with sufficient eloquence had he attempted
+the task while the burden of the rising ground was upon his lungs and
+chest.&nbsp; They turned into a saw-mill as they went up, and counted
+the scantlings of timber that had been cut; and Michel looked at the
+cradle to see that it worked well, and to the wheels to see that they
+were in good order, and observed that the channel for the water required
+repairs, and said a word as to the injury that had come to him because
+George had left him.&nbsp; &lsquo;Perhaps he may come back soon,&rsquo;
+said Marie.&nbsp; To this he made no answer, but continued his path
+up the mountain-side.&nbsp; &lsquo;There will be plenty of feed for
+the cows this autumn,&rsquo; said Marie Bromar.&nbsp; &lsquo;That is
+a great comfort.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Plenty,&rsquo; said Michel; &lsquo;plenty.&rsquo;&nbsp; But Marie
+knew from the tone of his voice that he was not thinking about the grass,
+and so she held her peace.&nbsp; But the want or plenty of the pasture
+was generally a subject of the greatest interest to the people of Granpere
+at that special time of the year, and one on which Michel Voss was ever
+ready to speak.&nbsp; Marie therefore knew that there was something
+on her uncle&rsquo;s mind.&nbsp; Nevertheless he inspected the timber
+that was cut, and made some remarks about the work of the men.&nbsp;
+They were not so careful in barking the logs as they used to be, and
+upon the whole he thought that the wood itself was of a worse quality.&nbsp;
+What is there that we do not find to be deteriorating around us when
+we consider the things in detail, though we are willing enough to admit
+a general improvement?&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said he, in answer to
+some remarks from Marie, &lsquo;we must take it, no doubt, as God gives
+it to us, but we need not spoil it in the handling.&nbsp; Sit down,
+my dear; I want to speak to you for a few minutes.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then
+they sat down together on a large prostrate pine, which was being prepared
+to be sent down to the saw-mill.&nbsp; &lsquo;My dear,&rsquo; said he,
+&lsquo;I want to speak to you about Adrian Urmand.&rsquo;&nbsp; She
+blushed and trembled as she placed herself beside him; but he hardly
+noticed it.&nbsp; He was not quite at his ease himself, and was a little
+afraid of the task he had undertaken.&nbsp; &lsquo;Adrian tells me that
+he asked you to take him as your lover, and that you refused.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes, Uncle Michel.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But why, my dear?&nbsp; How are you to do better?&nbsp; Perhaps
+I, or your aunt, should have spoken to you first, and told you that
+we thought well of the match.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It wasn&rsquo;t that, uncle.&nbsp; I knew you thought well of
+it; or, at least, I believed that you did.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And what is your objection, Marie?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t object to M. Urmand, uncle; - at least, not particularly.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But he says you do object.&nbsp; You would not accept him when
+he offered himself.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No; I did not accept him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But you will, my dear, - if he comes again?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, uncle.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And why not?&nbsp; Is he not a good young man?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, yes, - that is, I daresay.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And he has a good business.&nbsp; I do not know what more you
+could expect.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I expect nothing, uncle, - except not to go away from you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Ah, - but you must go away from me.&nbsp; I should be very wrong,
+and so would your aunt, to let you remain here till you lose your good
+looks, and become an old woman on our hands.&nbsp; You are a pretty
+girl, Marie, and fit to be any man&rsquo;s wife, and you ought to take
+a husband.&nbsp; I am quite in earnest now, my dear; and I speak altogether
+for your own welfare.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I know you are in earnest, and I know that you speak for my welfare.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well; - well; - what then?&nbsp; Of course, it is only reasonable
+that you should be married some day.&nbsp; Here is a young man in a
+better way of business than any man, old or young, that comes into Granpere.&nbsp;
+He has a house in Basle, and money to put in it whatever you want.&nbsp;
+And for the matter of that, Marie, my niece shall not go away from me
+empty-handed.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+She drew herself closer to him and took hold of his arm and pressed
+it, and looked up into his face.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I brought nothing with me,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;and I want
+to take nothing away.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Is that it?&rsquo; he said, speaking rapidly.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let
+me tell you then, my girl, that you shall have nothing but your earnings,
+- your fair earnings.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you take trouble about that.&nbsp;
+Urmand and I will settle that between us, and I will go bail there shall
+be no unpleasant words.&nbsp; As I said before, my girl sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t
+leave my house empty-handed; but, Lord bless you, he would only be too
+happy to take you in your petticoat, just as you are.&nbsp; I never
+saw a fellow more in love with a girl.&nbsp; Come, Marie, you need not
+mind saying the word to me, though you could not bring yourself to say
+it to him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I can&rsquo;t say that word, uncle, either to you or to him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And why the devil not?&rsquo; said Michel Voss, who was beginning
+to be tired of being eloquent.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I would rather stay at home with you and my aunt.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, bother!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Some girls stay at home always.&nbsp; All girls do not get married.&nbsp;
+I don&rsquo;t want to be taken to Basle.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;This is all nonsense,&rsquo; said Michel, getting up.&nbsp; &lsquo;If
+you&rsquo;re a good girl, you will do as you are told.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It would not be good to be married to a man if I do not love
+him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But why shouldn&rsquo;t you love him?&nbsp; He&rsquo;s just the
+man that all the girls always love.&nbsp; Why don&rsquo;t you love him?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+As Michel Voss asked this last question, there was a tone of anger in
+his voice.&nbsp; He had allowed his niece considerable liberty, and
+now she was unreasonable.&nbsp; Marie, who, in spite of her devotion
+to her uncle, was beginning to think that she was ill-used by this tone,
+made no reply.&nbsp; &lsquo;I hope you haven&rsquo;t been falling in
+love with any one else,&rsquo; continued Michel.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said Marie, in a low whisper.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I do hope you&rsquo;re not still thinking of George, who has
+left us without casting a thought upon you.&nbsp; I do hope that you
+are not such a fool as that.&rsquo;&nbsp; Marie sat perfectly silent,
+not moving; but there was a frown on her brow and a look of sorrow mixed
+with anger on her face.&nbsp; But Michel Voss did not see her face.&nbsp;
+He looked straight before him as he spoke, and was flinging chips of
+wood to a distance in his energy.&nbsp; &lsquo;If it&rsquo;s that, Marie,
+I tell you you had better get quit of it at once.&nbsp; It can come
+to no good.&nbsp; Here is an excellent husband for you.&nbsp; Be a good
+girl, and say that you will accept him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I should not be a good girl to accept a man whom I do not love.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Is it any thought about George that makes you say so, child?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Michel paused a moment for an answer.&nbsp; &lsquo;Tell me,&rsquo; he
+continued, with almost angry energy, &lsquo;is it because of George
+that you refuse yourself to this young man?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Marie paused again for a moment, and then she replied, &lsquo;No, it
+is not.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is not?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, uncle.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then why will you not marry Adrian Urmand?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Because I do not care for him.&nbsp; Why won&rsquo;t you let
+me remain with you, uncle?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+She was very close to him now, and leaning against him; and her throat
+was half choked with sobs, and her eyes were full of tears.&nbsp; Michel
+Voss was a soft-hearted man, and inclined to be very soft of heart where
+Marie Bromar was concerned.&nbsp; On the other hand he was thoroughly
+convinced that it would be for his niece&rsquo;s benefit that she should
+marry this young trader; and he thought also that it was his duty as
+her uncle and guardian to be round with her, and make her understand,
+that as her friends wished it, and as the young trader himself wished
+it, it was her duty to do as she was desired.&nbsp; Another uncle and
+guardian in his place would hardly have consulted the girl at all.&nbsp;
+Between his desire to have his own way and reduce her to obedience,
+and the temptation to put his arm round her waist and kiss away her
+tears, he was uneasy and vacillating.&nbsp; She gently put her hand
+within his arm, and pressed it very close.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Won&rsquo;t you let me remain with you, uncle?&nbsp; I love you
+and Aunt Josey&rsquo; (Madame Voss was named Josephine, and was generally
+called Aunt Josey) &lsquo;and the children.&nbsp; I could not go away
+from the children.&nbsp; And I like the house.&nbsp; I am sure I am
+of use in the house.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Of course you are of use in the house.&nbsp; It is not that.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why, then, should you want to send me away?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What nonsense you talk, Marie!&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t you know that
+a young woman like you ought to be married some day - that is if she
+can get a fitting man to take her?&nbsp; What would the neighbours say
+of me if we kept you at home to drudge for us, instead of settling you
+out in the world properly?&nbsp; You forget, Marie, that I have a duty
+to perform, and you should not make it so difficult.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But if I don&rsquo;t want to be settled?&rsquo; said Marie.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Who cares for the neighbours?&nbsp; If you and I understand each
+other, is not that enough?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I care for the neighbours,&rsquo; said Michel Voss with energy.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And must I marry a man I don&rsquo;t care a bit for, because
+of the neighbours, Uncle Michel?&rsquo; asked Marie, with something
+approaching to indignation in her voice.<br>
+<br>
+Michel Voss perceived that it was of no use for him to carry on the
+argument.&nbsp; He entertained a half-formed idea that he did not quite
+understand the objections so strongly urged by his niece; that there
+was something on her mind that she would not tell him, and that there
+might be cruelty in urging the matter upon her; but, in opposition to
+this, there was his assured conviction that it was his duty to provide
+well and comfortably for his niece, and that it was her duty to obey
+him in acceding to such provision as he might make.&nbsp; And then this
+marriage was undoubtedly a good marriage - a match that would make all
+the world declare how well Michel Voss had done for the girl whom he
+had taken under his protection.&nbsp; It was a marriage that he could
+not bear to see go out of the family.&nbsp; It was not probable that
+the young linen-merchant, who was so well to do in the world, and who,
+no doubt, might have his choice in larger places than Granpere - it
+was not probable, Michel thought, that he would put up with many refusals.&nbsp;
+The girl would lose her chance, unless he, by his firmness, could drive
+this folly out of her.&nbsp; And yet how could he be firm, when he was
+tempted to throw his great arms about her, and swear that she should
+eat of his bread and drink of his cup, and be unto him as a daughter,
+till the last day of their joint existence.&nbsp; When she crept so
+close to him and pressed his arm, he was almost overcome by the sweetness
+of her love and by the tenderness of his own heart.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It seems to me that you don&rsquo;t understand,&rsquo; he said
+at last.&nbsp; &lsquo;I didn&rsquo;t think that such a girl as you would
+be so silly.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+To this she made no reply; and then they began to walk down the hill
+together.<br>
+<br>
+They had walked half way home, he stepping a little in advance, - because
+he was still angry with her, or angry rather with himself in that he
+could not bring himself to scold her properly, - and she following close
+behind his shoulder, when he stopped suddenly and asked her a question
+which came from the direction his thoughts were taking at the moment.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You are sure,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;that you are not doing this
+because you expect George to come back to you?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Quite sure,&rsquo; she said, bearing forward a moment, and answering
+him in a whisper when she spoke.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;By my word, then, I can&rsquo;t understand it.&nbsp; I can&rsquo;t
+indeed.&nbsp; Has Urmand done anything to offend you?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nothing, uncle.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nor said anything?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Not a word; uncle.&nbsp; I am not offended.&nbsp; Of course I
+am much obliged to him.&nbsp; Only I don&rsquo;t love him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;By my faith I don&rsquo;t understand it.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+indeed.&nbsp; It is sheer nonsense, and you must get over it.&nbsp;
+I shouldn&rsquo;t be doing my duty if I didn&rsquo;t tell you that you
+must get over it.&nbsp; He will be here again in another ten days, and
+you must have thought better of it by that time.&nbsp; You must indeed,
+Marie.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then they walked down the hill in silence together, each thinking intently
+on the purpose of the other, but each altogether misunderstanding the
+other.&nbsp; Michel Voss was assured - as she had twice implied as much
+- that she was altogether indifferent to his son George.&nbsp; What
+he might have said or done had she declared her affection for her absent
+lover, he did not himself know.&nbsp; He had not questioned himself
+on that point.&nbsp; Though his wife had told him that Marie was ever
+thinking of George, he had not believed that it was so.&nbsp; He had
+no reason for disliking a marriage between his son and his wife&rsquo;s
+niece.&nbsp; When he had first thought that they were going to be lovers,
+under his nose, without his permission, - going to commence a new kind
+of life between themselves without so much as a word spoken to him or
+by him, - he had found himself compelled to interfere, compelled as
+a father and an uncle.&nbsp; That kind of thing could never be allowed
+to take place in a well-ordered house without the expressed sanction
+of the head of the household.&nbsp; He had interfered, - rather roughly;
+and his son had taken him at his word.&nbsp; He was sore now at his
+son&rsquo;s coldness to him, and was disposed to believe that his son
+cared not at all for any one at Granpere.&nbsp; His niece was almost
+as dear to him as his son, and much more dutiful.&nbsp; Therefore he
+would do the best he could for his niece.&nbsp; Marie&rsquo;s declaration
+that George was nothing to her, - that she did not think of him, - was
+in accordance with his own ideas.&nbsp; His wife had been wrong.&nbsp;
+His wife was usually wrong when any headwork was required.&nbsp; There
+could be no good reason why Marie Bromar should not marry Adrian Urmand.<br>
+<br>
+But Marie, as she knew very well, had never declared that George Voss
+was nothing to her, - that he was forgotten, or that her heart was free.&nbsp;
+He had gone from her and had forgotten her.&nbsp; She was quite sure
+of that.&nbsp; And should she ever hear that he was married to some
+one else, - as it was probable that she would hear some day, - then
+she would be free again.&nbsp; Then she might take this man or that,
+if her friends wished it - and if she could bring herself to endure
+the proposed marriage.&nbsp; But at present her troth was plighted to
+George Voss; and where her troth was given, there was her heart also.&nbsp;
+She could understand that such a circumstance, affecting one of so little
+importance as herself, should be nothing to a man like her uncle; but
+it was everything to her.&nbsp; George had forgotten her, and she had
+wept sorely over his want of constancy.&nbsp; But though telling herself
+that this certainly was so, she had declared to herself that she would
+never be untrue till her want of truth had been put beyond the reach
+of doubt.&nbsp; Who does not know how hope remains, when reason has
+declared that there is no longer ground for hoping?<br>
+<br>
+Such had been the state of her mind hitherto; but what would be the
+good of entertaining hope, even if there were ground for hoping, when,
+as was so evident, her uncle would never permit George and her to be
+man and wife?&nbsp; And did she not owe everything to her uncle?&nbsp;
+And was it not the duty of a girl to obey her guardian?&nbsp; Would
+not all the world be against her if she refused this man?&nbsp; Her
+mind was tormented by a thousand doubts, when her uncle said another
+word to her, just as they were entering the village.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You will try and think better of it; - will you not, my dear?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+She was silent.&nbsp; &lsquo;Come, Marie, you can say that you will
+try.&nbsp; Will you not try?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes, uncle, - I will try.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Michel Voss went home in a good humour, for he felt that he had triumphed;
+and poor Marie returned broken-hearted, for she was aware that she had
+half-yielded.&nbsp; She knew that her uncle was triumphant.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER V.<br>
+<br>
+When Edmond Greisse was back at Granpere he well remembered his message,
+but he had some doubt as to the expediency of delivering it.&nbsp; He
+had to reflect in the first place whether he was quite sure that matters
+were arranged between Marie and Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; The story had been
+told to him as being certainly true by Peter the waiter.&nbsp; And he
+had discussed the matter with other young men, his associates in the
+place, among all of whom it was believed that Urmand was certainly about
+to carry away the young woman with whom they were all more or less in
+love.&nbsp; But when, on his return to Granpere, he had asked a few
+more questions, and had found that even Peter was now in doubt on a
+point as to which he had before been so sure, he began to think that
+there would be some difficulty in giving his message.&nbsp; He was not
+without some little fear of Marie, and hesitated to tell her that he
+had spread the report about her marriage.&nbsp; So he contented himself
+with simply announcing to her that George Voss intended to visit his
+old home.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Does my uncle know?&rsquo; Marie asked.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No; - you are to tell him,&rsquo; said Greisse.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am to tell him!&nbsp; Why should I tell him?&nbsp; You can
+tell him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But George said that I was to let you know, and that you would
+tell your uncle.&rsquo;&nbsp; This was quite unintelligible to Marie;
+but it was clear to her that she could make no such announcement, after
+the conversation which she had had with her uncle.&nbsp; It was quite
+out of the question that she should be the first to announce George&rsquo;s
+return, when she had been twice warned on that Sunday afternoon not
+to think of him.&nbsp; &lsquo;You had better let my uncle know yourself,&rsquo;
+she said, as she walked away.&nbsp; But young Greisse, knowing that
+he was already in trouble, and feeling that he might very probably make
+it worse, held his peace.&nbsp; When therefore one morning George Voss
+showed himself at the door of the inn, neither his father nor Madame
+Voss expected him.<br>
+<br>
+But his father was kind to him, and his mother-in-law hovered round
+him with demonstrations of love and gratitude, as though much were due
+to him for coming back at all.&nbsp; &lsquo;But you expected me,&rsquo;
+said George.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, indeed,&rsquo; said his father.&nbsp; &lsquo;We did not expect
+you now any more than on any other day since you left us.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I sent word by Edmond Greisse,&rsquo; said George.&nbsp; Edmond
+was interrogated, and declared that he had forgotten to give the message.&nbsp;
+George was too clever to pursue the matter any farther, and when he
+first met Marie Bromar, there was not a word said between them beyond
+what might have been said between any young persons so related, after
+an absence of twelve months.&nbsp; George Voss was very careful to make
+no demonstration of affection for a girl who had forgotten him, and
+who was now, as he believed, betrothed to another man; and Marie was
+determined that certainly no sign of the old love should first be shown
+by her.&nbsp; He had come back, - perhaps just in time.&nbsp; He had
+returned just at the moment in which something must be decided.&nbsp;
+She had felt how much there was in the little word which she had spoken
+to her uncle.&nbsp; When a girl says that she will try to reconcile
+herself to a man&rsquo;s overtures, she has almost yielded.&nbsp; The
+word had escaped her without any such meaning on her part, - had been
+spoken because she had feared to continue to contradict her uncle in
+the full completeness of a positive refusal.&nbsp; She had regretted
+it as soon as it had been spoken, but she could not recall it.&nbsp;
+She had seen in her uncle&rsquo;s eye and had heard in the tone of his
+voice for how much that word had been taken; - but it had gone forth
+from her mouth, and she could not now rob it of its meaning.&nbsp; Adrian
+Urmand was to be back at Granpere in a few days - in ten days Michel
+Voss had said; and there were those ten days for her in which to resolve
+what she would do.&nbsp; Now, as though sent from heaven, George had
+returned, in this very interval of time.&nbsp; Might it not be that
+he would help her out of her difficulty?&nbsp; If he would only tell
+her to remain single for his sake, she would certainly turn her back
+upon her Swiss lover, let her uncle say what he might.&nbsp; She would
+make no engagement with George unless with her uncle&rsquo;s sanction;
+but a word, a look of love, would fortify her against that other marriage.<br>
+<br>
+George, she thought, had come back a man more to be worshipped than
+ever, as far as appearance went.&nbsp; What woman could doubt for a
+moment between two such men?&nbsp; Adrian Urmand was no doubt a pretty
+man, with black hair, of which he was very careful, with white hands,
+with bright small dark eyes which were very close together, with a thin
+regular nose, a small mouth, and a black moustache, which he was always
+pointing with his fingers.&nbsp; It was impossible to deny that he was
+good-looking after a fashion; but Marie despised him in her heart.&nbsp;
+She was almost bigger than he was, certainly stronger, and had no aptitude
+for the city niceness and <i>point-device</i> fastidiousness of such
+a lover.&nbsp; George Voss had come back, not taller than when he had
+left them, but broader in the shoulders, and more of a man.&nbsp; And
+then he had in his eye, and in his beaked nose, and his large mouth,
+and well-developed chin, that look of command, which was the peculiar
+character of his father&rsquo;s face, and which women, who judge of
+men by their feelings rather than their thoughts, always love to see.&nbsp;
+Marie, if she would consent to marry Adrian Urmand, might probably have
+her own way in the house in everything; whereas it was certain enough
+that George Voss, wherever he might be, would desire to have his way.&nbsp;
+But yet there needed not a moment, in Marie&rsquo;s estimation, to choose
+between the two.&nbsp; George Voss was a real man; whereas Adrian Urmand,
+tried by such a comparison, was in her estimation simply a rich trader
+in want of a wife.<br>
+<br>
+In a day or two the fatted calf was killed, and all went happily between
+George and his father.&nbsp; They walked together up into the mountains,
+and looked after the wood-cutting, and discussed the prospects of the
+inn at Colmar.&nbsp; Michel was disposed to think that George had better
+remain at Colmar, and accept Madame Faragon&rsquo;s offer.&nbsp; &lsquo;If
+you think that the house is worth anything, I will give you a few thousand
+francs to set it in order; and then you had better agree to allow her
+so much a year for her life.&rsquo;&nbsp; He probably felt himself to
+be nearly as young a man as his son; and then remember too that he had
+other sons coming up, who would be able to carry on the house at Granpere
+when he should be past his work.&nbsp; Michel was a loving, generous-hearted
+man, and all feeling of anger with his son was over before they had
+been together two days.&nbsp; &lsquo;You can&rsquo;t do better, George,&rsquo;
+he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;You need not always stay away from us for twelve
+months, and I might take a turn over the mountain, and get a lesson
+as to how you do things at Colmar.&nbsp; If ten thousand francs will
+help you, you shall have them.&nbsp; Will that make things go straight
+with you?&rsquo;&nbsp; George Voss thought the sum named would make
+things go very straight; but as the reader knows, he had another matter
+near to his heart.&nbsp; He thanked his father; but not in the joyous
+thoroughly contented tone that Michel had expected.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is
+there anything wrong about it?&rsquo; Michel said in that sharp tone
+which he used when something had suddenly displeased him.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;There is nothing wrong; nothing wrong at all,&rsquo; said George
+slowly.&nbsp; &lsquo;The money is much more than I could have expected.&nbsp;
+Indeed I did not expect any.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What is it then?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I was thinking of something else.&nbsp; Tell me, father; is it
+true that Marie is going to be married to Adrian Urmand?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What makes you ask?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I heard a report of it,&rsquo; said George.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is it
+true?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+The father reflected a moment what answer he should give.&nbsp; It did
+not seem to him that George spoke of such a marriage as though the rumour
+of it had made him unhappy.&nbsp; The question had been asked almost
+with indifference.&nbsp; And then the young man&rsquo;s manner to Marie,
+and Marie&rsquo;s manner to him, during the last two days had made him
+certain that he had been right in supposing that they had both forgotten
+the little tenderness of a year ago.&nbsp; And Michel had thoroughly
+made up his mind that it would be well that Marie should marry Adrian.&nbsp;
+He believed that he had already vanquished Marie&rsquo;s scruples.&nbsp;
+She had promised &lsquo;to try and think better of it,&rsquo; before
+George&rsquo;s return; and therefore was he not justified in regarding
+the matter as almost settled?&nbsp; &lsquo;I think that they will be
+married,&rsquo; said he to his son.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then there is something in it?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, yes; there is a great deal in it.&nbsp; Urmand is very eager
+for it, and has asked me and her aunt, and we have consented.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But has he asked her?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; he has done that too,&rsquo; said Michel.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And what answer did he get?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well; - I don&rsquo;t know that it would be fair to tell that.&nbsp;
+Marie is not a girl likely to jump into a man&rsquo;s arms at the first
+word.&nbsp; But I think there is no doubt that they will be betrothed
+before Sunday week.&nbsp; He is to be here again on Wednesday.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She likes him, then?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, yes; of course she likes him.&rsquo;&nbsp; Michel Voss had
+not intended to say a word that was false.&nbsp; He was anxious to do
+the best in his power for both his son and his niece.&nbsp; He thoroughly
+understood that it was his duty as a father and a guardian to start
+them well in the world, to do all that he could for their prosperity,
+to feed their wants with his money, as a pelican feeds her young with
+blood from her bosom.&nbsp; Had he known the hearts of each of them,
+could he have understood Marie&rsquo;s constancy, or the obstinate silent
+strength of his son&rsquo;s disposition, he would have let Adrian Urmand,
+with his business and his house at Basle, seek a wife in any other quarter
+where he listed, and would have joined together the hands of these two
+whom he loved, with a paternal blessing.&nbsp; But he did not understand.&nbsp;
+He thought that he saw everything when he saw nothing; - and now he
+was deceiving his son; for it was untrue that Marie had any such &lsquo;liking&rsquo;
+for Adrian Urmand as that of which George had spoken.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is as good as settled, then?&rsquo; said George, not showing
+by any tone of his voice the anxiety with which the question was asked.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I think it is as good as settled,&rsquo; Michel answered.&nbsp;
+Before they got back to the inn, George had thanked his father for his
+liberal offer, had declared that he would accede to Madame Faragon&rsquo;s
+proposition, and had made his father understand that he must return
+to Colmar on the next Monday, - two days before that on which Urmand
+was expected at Granpere.<br>
+<br>
+The Monday came, and hitherto there had been no word of explanation
+between George and Marie.&nbsp; Every one in the house knew that he
+was about to return to Colmar, and every one in the house knew that
+he had been entirely reconciled to his father.&nbsp; Madame Voss had
+asked some question about him and Marie, and had been assured by her
+husband that there was nothing in that suspicion.&nbsp; &lsquo;I told
+you from the beginning,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;that there was nothing
+of that sort.&nbsp; I only wish that George would think of marrying
+some one, now that he is to have a large house of his own over his head.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+George had determined a dozen times that he would, and a dozen times
+that he would not, speak to Marie about her coming marriage, changing
+his mind as often as it was formed.&nbsp; Of what use was it to speak
+to her? he would say to himself.&nbsp; Then again he would resolve that
+he would scorch her false heart by one withering word before he went.&nbsp;
+Chance at last arranged it for him.&nbsp; Before he started he found
+himself alone with her for a moment, and it was almost impossible that
+he should not say something.&nbsp; Then he did speak.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;They tell me you are going to be married, Marie.&nbsp; I hope
+you will be happy and prosperous.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Who tells you so?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is true at any rate, I suppose.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Not that I know of.&nbsp; If my uncle and aunt choose to dispose
+of me, I cannot help it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is well for girls to be disposed of sometimes.&nbsp; It saves
+them a world of trouble.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you mean by that, George; - whether it
+is intended to be ill-natured.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, indeed.&nbsp; Why should I be ill-natured to you?&nbsp; I
+heartily wish you to be well and happy.&nbsp; I daresay M. Urmand will
+make you a good husband.&nbsp; Good-bye, Marie.&nbsp; I shall be off
+in a few minutes.&nbsp; Will you not say farewell to me?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Farewell, George.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;We used to be friends, Marie.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; - we used to be friends.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And I have never forgotten the old days.&nbsp; I will not promise
+to come to your marriage, because it would not make either of us happy,
+but I shall wish you well.&nbsp; God bless you, Marie.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Then he put his arm round her and kissed her, as he might have done
+to a sister, - as it was natural that he should do to Marie Bromar,
+regarding her as a cousin.&nbsp; She did not speak a word more, and
+then he was gone!<br>
+<br>
+She had been quite unable to tell him the truth.&nbsp; The manner in
+which he had first addressed her made it impossible for her to tell
+him that she was not engaged to marry Adrian Urmand, - that she was
+determined, if possible, to avoid the marriage, and that she had no
+love for Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; Had she done so, she would in so doing
+have asked him to come back to her.&nbsp; That she should do this was
+impossible.&nbsp; And yet as he left her, some suspicion of the truth,
+some half-formed idea of the real state of the man&rsquo;s mind in reference
+to her, flashed across her own.&nbsp; She seemed to feel that she was
+specially unfortunate, but she felt at the same time that there was
+no means within her reach of setting things right.&nbsp; And she was
+as convinced as ever she had been, that her uncle would never give his
+consent to a marriage between her and George Voss.&nbsp; As for George
+himself, he left her with an assured conviction that she was the promised
+bride of Adrian Urmand.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER VI.<br>
+<br>
+The world seemed very hard to Marie Bromar when she was left alone.&nbsp;
+Though there were many who loved her, of whose real affection she had
+no doubt, there was no one to whom she could go for assistance.&nbsp;
+Her uncle in this matter was her enemy, and her aunt was completely
+under her uncle&rsquo;s guidance.&nbsp; Madame Voss spoke to her often
+in these days of the coming of Adrian Urmand, but the manner of her
+speaking was such that no comfort could be taken from it.&nbsp; Madame
+Voss would risk an opinion as to the room which the young man ought
+to occupy, and the manner in which he should be fed and entertained.&nbsp;
+For it was thoroughly understood that he was coming on this occasion
+as a lover and not as a trader, and that he was coming as the guest
+of Michel Voss, and not as a customer to the inn.&nbsp; &lsquo;I suppose
+he can take his supper like the other people,&rsquo; Marie said to her
+aunt.&nbsp; And again, when the question of wine was mooted, she was
+almost saucy.&nbsp; &lsquo;If he&rsquo;s thirsty,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;what
+did for him last week, will do for him next week: and if he&rsquo;s
+not thirsty, he had better leave it alone.&rsquo;&nbsp; But girls are
+always allowed to be saucy about their lovers, and Madame Voss did not
+count this for much.<br>
+<br>
+Marie was always thinking of those last words which had been spoken
+between her and George, and of the kiss that he had given her.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;We used to be friends,&rsquo; he had said, and then he had declared
+that he had never forgotten old days.&nbsp; Marie was quick, intelligent,
+and ready to perceive at half a glance, - to understand at half a word,
+as is the way with clever women.&nbsp; A thrill had gone through her
+as she heard the tone of the young man&rsquo;s voice, and she had half
+told herself all the truth.&nbsp; He had not quite ceased to think of
+her.&nbsp; Then he went, without saying the other one word that would
+have been needful, without even looking the truth into her face.&nbsp;
+He had gone, and had plainly given her to understand that he acceded
+to this marriage with Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; How was she to read it all?&nbsp;
+Was there more than one way in which a wounded woman, so sore at heart,
+could read it?&nbsp; He had told her that though he loved her still,
+it did not suit him to trouble himself with her as a wife; and that
+he would throw upon her head the guilt of having been false to their
+old vows.&nbsp; Though she loved him better than all the world, she
+despised him for his thoughtful treachery.&nbsp; In her eyes it was
+treachery.&nbsp; He must have known the truth.&nbsp; What right had
+he to suppose that she would be false to him, - he, who had never known
+her to lie to him?&nbsp; And was it not his business, as a man, to speak
+some word, to ask some question, by which, if he doubted, the truth
+might be made known to him?&nbsp; She, a woman, could ask no question.&nbsp;
+She could speak no word.&nbsp; She could not renew her assurances to
+him, till he should have asked her to renew them.&nbsp; He was either
+false, or a traitor, or a coward.&nbsp; She was very angry with him;
+- so angry that she was almost driven by her anger to throw herself
+into Adrian&rsquo;s arms.&nbsp; She was the more angry because she was
+full sure that he had not forgotten his old love, - that his heart was
+not altogether changed.&nbsp; Had it appeared to her that the sweet
+words of former days had vanished from his memory, though they had clung
+to hers, - that he had in truth learned to look upon his Granpere experiences
+as the simple doings of his boyhood, - her pride would have been hurt,
+but she would have been angry with herself rather than with him.&nbsp;
+But it had not been so.&nbsp; The respectful silence of his sojourn
+in the house had told her that it was not so.&nbsp; The tremor in his
+voice as he reminded her that they once had been friends had plainly
+told her that it was not so.&nbsp; He had acknowledged that they had
+been betrothed, and that the plight between them was still strong; but,
+wishing to be quit of it, he had thrown the burden of breaking it upon
+her.<br>
+<br>
+She was very wretched, but she did not go about the house with downcast
+eyes or humble looks, or sit idle in a corner with her hands before
+her.&nbsp; She was quick and eager in the performance of her work, speaking
+sharply to those who came in contact with her.&nbsp; Peter Veque, her
+chief minister, had but a poor time of it in these days; and she spoke
+an angry word or two to Edmond Greisse.&nbsp; She had, in truth, spoken
+no words to Edmond Greisse that were not angry since that ill-starred
+communication of which he had only given her the half.&nbsp; To her
+aunt she was brusque, and almost ill-mannered.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What is the matter with you, Marie?&rsquo; Madame Voss said to
+her one morning, when she had been snubbed rather rudely by her niece.&nbsp;
+Marie in answer shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.&nbsp; &lsquo;If
+you cannot put on a better look before M. Urmand comes, I think he will
+hardly hold to his bargain,&rsquo; said Madame Voss, who was angry.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Who wants him to hold to his bargain?&rsquo; said Marie sharply.&nbsp;
+Then feeling ill-inclined to discuss the matter with her aunt, she left
+the room.&nbsp; Madame Voss, who had been assured by her husband that
+Marie had no real objection to Adrian Urmand, did not understand it
+all.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am sure Marie is unhappy,&rsquo; she said to her husband when
+he came in at noon that day.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes,&rsquo; said he.&nbsp; &lsquo;It seems strange, but it is
+so, I fancy, with the best of our young women.&nbsp; Her feeling of
+modesty - of bashfulness if you will - is outraged by being told that
+she is to admit this man as her lover.&nbsp; She won&rsquo;t make the
+worse wife on that account, when he gets her home.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Madame Voss was not quite sure that her husband was right.&nbsp; She
+had not before observed young women to be made savage in their daily
+work by the outrage to their modesty of an acknowledged lover.&nbsp;
+But, as usual, she submitted to her husband.&nbsp; Had she not done
+so, there would have come that glance from the corner of his eye, and
+that curl in his lip, and that gentle breath from his nostril, which
+had become to her the expression of imperious marital authority.&nbsp;
+Nothing could be kinder, more truly affectionate, than was the heart
+of her husband towards her niece.&nbsp; Therefore Madame Voss yielded,
+and comforted herself by an assurance that as the best was being done
+for Marie, she need not subject herself to her husband&rsquo;s displeasure
+by contradiction or interference.<br>
+<br>
+Michel Voss himself said little or nothing to his niece at this time.&nbsp;
+She had yielded to him, making him a promise that she would endeavour
+to accede to his wishes, and he felt that he was bound in honour not
+to trouble her farther, unless she should show herself to be disobedient
+when the moment of trial came.&nbsp; He was not himself at ease, he
+was not comfortable at heart, because he knew that Marie was avoiding
+him.&nbsp; Though she would still stand behind his chair at supper,
+- when for a moment she would be still, - she did not put her hands
+upon his head, nor did she speak to him more than the nature of her
+service required.&nbsp; Twice he tried to induce her to sit with them
+at table, as though to show that her position was altered now that she
+was about to become a bride; but he was altogether powerless to effect
+any such change as this.&nbsp; No words that could have been spoken
+would have induced Marie to seat herself at the table, so well did she
+understand all that such a change in her habits would have seemed to
+imply.&nbsp; There was now hardly one person in the supper-room of the
+hotel who did not instinctively understand the reason which made Michel
+Voss anxious that his niece should sit down, and that other reason which
+made her sternly refuse to comply with his request.&nbsp; So, day followed
+day, and there was but little said between the uncle and the niece,
+though heretofore - up to a time still within a fortnight of the present
+day - the whole business of the house had been managed by little whispered
+conferences between them.&nbsp; &lsquo;I think we&rsquo;ll do so and
+so, uncle;&rsquo; or, &lsquo;Just you manage it yourself, Marie.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Such and such-like words had passed every morning and evening, with
+an understanding between them full and complete.&nbsp; Now each was
+afraid of the other, and everything was astray.<br>
+<br>
+But Marie was still gentle with the children: when she could be with
+them for half an hour, she would sit with them on her lap, or clustering
+round, kissing them and saying soft words to them, - even softer in
+her affection than had been her wont.&nbsp; They understood as well
+as everybody else that something was wrong, - that there was to be some
+change as to Marie which perhaps would not be a change for the better;
+that there was cause for melancholy, for close kissing as though such
+kissing were in preparation for parting, and for soft strokings with
+their little hands as though Marie were to be pitied for that which
+was about to come upon her.&nbsp; &lsquo;Isn&rsquo;t somebody coming
+to take you away?&rsquo; little Michel asked her, when they were quite
+alone.&nbsp; Marie had not known how to answer him.&nbsp; She had therefore
+embraced him closely, and a tear fell upon his face.&nbsp; &lsquo;Ah,&rsquo;
+he said, &lsquo;I know somebody is coming to take you away.&nbsp; Will
+not papa help you?&rsquo;&nbsp; She had not spoken; but for the moment
+she had taken courage, and had resolved that she would help herself.<br>
+<br>
+At length the day was there on which Adrian Urmand was to come.&nbsp;
+It was his purpose to travel by Mulhouse and Remiremont, and Michel
+Voss drove over to the latter town to fetch him.&nbsp; It was felt by
+every one - it could not be but felt - that there was something special
+in his coming.&nbsp; His arrival now was not like the arrival of any
+one else.&nbsp; Marie, with all her resolution that it should be like
+usual arrivals at the inn, could not avoid the making of some difference
+herself.&nbsp; A better supper was prepared than usual; and, at the
+last moment, she herself assisted in preparing it.&nbsp; The young men
+clustered round the door of the hotel earlier than usual to welcome
+the new-comer.&nbsp; M. le Cur&eacute; was there with a clean white
+collar, and with his best hat.&nbsp; Madame Voss had changed her gown,
+and appeared in her own little room before her husband returned almost
+in her Sunday apparel.&nbsp; She had said a doubtful word to Marie,
+suggesting a clean ribbon, or an altered frill.&nbsp; Marie had replied
+only by a look.&nbsp; She would not have changed a pin for Urmand&rsquo;s
+coming, had all Granpere come round her to tell her that it was needful.&nbsp;
+If the man wanted more to eat than was customary, let him have it.&nbsp;
+It was not for her to measure her uncle&rsquo;s hospitality.&nbsp; But
+her ribbons and her pins were her own.<br>
+<br>
+The carriage was driving up to the door, and Michel with his young friend
+descended among the circle of expectant admirers.&nbsp; Urmand was rich,
+always well dressed, and now he was to be successful in love.&nbsp;
+He had about him a look as of a successful prosperous lover, as he jumped
+out of the little carriage with his portmanteau in his hand, and his
+greatcoat with its silk linings open at the breast.&nbsp; There was
+a consciousness in him and in every one there that he had not come now
+to buy linen.&nbsp; He made his way into the little room where Madame
+Voss was standing up, waiting for him, and was taken by the hand by
+her.&nbsp; Michel Voss soon followed them.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And where is Marie?&rsquo; Michel asked.<br>
+<br>
+An answer came from some one that Marie was upstairs.&nbsp; Supper would
+soon be ready, and Marie was busy.&nbsp; Then Michel sent up an order
+by Peter that Marie should come down.&nbsp; But Marie did not come down.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;She had gone to her own room,&rsquo; Peter said.&nbsp; Then there
+came a frown on Michel&rsquo;s brow.&nbsp; Marie had promised to try,
+and this was not trying.&nbsp; He said no more till they went up to
+supper.&nbsp; There was Marie standing as usual at the soup tureen.&nbsp;
+Urmand walked up to her, and they touched each other&rsquo;s hand; but
+Marie said never a word.&nbsp; The frown on Michel&rsquo;s brow was
+very black, but Marie went on dispensing her soup.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER VII.<br>
+<br>
+Adrian Urmand, in spite of his white hands and his well-combed locks
+and the silk lining to his coat, had so much of the spirit of a man
+that he was minded to hold his head well up before the girl whom he
+wished to make his wife.&nbsp; Michel during that drive from Remiremont
+had told him that he might probably prevail.&nbsp; Michel had said a
+thousand things in favour of his niece and not a word to her prejudice;
+but he had so spoken, or had endeavoured so to speak, as to make Urmand
+understand that Marie could only be won with difficulty, and that she
+was perhaps unaccountably averse to the idea of matrimony.&nbsp; &lsquo;She
+is like a young filly, you know, that starts and plunges when she is
+touched,&rsquo; he had said.&nbsp; &lsquo;You think there is nobody
+else?&rsquo; Urmand had asked.&nbsp; Then Michel Voss had answered with
+confidence, &lsquo;I am sure there is nobody else.&rsquo;&nbsp; Urmand
+had listened and said very little; but when at supper he saw that the
+uncle was ruffled in his temper and sat silent with a black brow, that
+Madame Voss was troubled in spirit, and that Marie dispensed her soup
+without vouchsafing a look to any one, he felt that it behoved him to
+do his best, and he did it.&nbsp; He talked freely to Madame Voss, telling
+her the news from Basle, - how at length he thought the French trade
+was reviving, and how all the Swiss authorities were still opposed to
+the German occupation of Alsace; and how flax was likely to be dearer
+than ever he had seen it; and how the travelling English were fewer
+this year than usual, to the great detriment of the innkeepers.&nbsp;
+Every now and then he would say a word to Marie herself, as she passed
+near him, speaking in a cheery tone and striving his best to dispel
+a black silence which on the present occasion would have been specially
+lugubrious.&nbsp; Upon the whole he did his work well, and Michel Voss
+was aware of it; but Marie Bromar entertained no gentle thought respecting
+him.&nbsp; He was not wanted there, and he ought not to have come.&nbsp;
+She had given him an answer, and he ought to have taken it.&nbsp; Nothing,
+she declared to herself, was meaner than a man who would go to a girl&rsquo;s
+parents or guardians for support, when the girl herself had told him
+that she wished to have nothing to do with him.&nbsp; Marie had promised
+that she would try, but every feeling of her heart was against the struggle.<br>
+<br>
+After supper Michel with his young friend sat some time at the table,
+for the innkeeper had brought forth a bottle of his best Burgundy in
+honour of the occasion.&nbsp; When they had eaten their fruit, Madame
+Voss left the room, and Michel and Adrian were soon alone together.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Say nothing to her till to-morrow,&rsquo; said Michel in a low
+voice.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I will not,&rsquo; said Adrian.&nbsp; &lsquo;I do not wonder
+that she should be put out of face if she knows why I have come.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Of course she knows.&nbsp; Give her to-night and to-morrow, and
+we will see how it is to be.&rsquo;&nbsp; At this time Marie was up-stairs
+with the children, resolute that nothing should induce her to go down
+till she should be sure that their visitor had gone to his chamber.&nbsp;
+There were many things about the house which it was her custom to see
+in their place before she went to her rest, and nobody should say that
+she neglected her work because of this dressed-up doll; but she would
+wait till she was sure of him, - till she was sure of her uncle also.&nbsp;
+In her present frame of mind she could not have spoken to the doll with
+ordinary courtesy.&nbsp; What she feared was, that her uncle should
+seek her up-stairs.<br>
+<br>
+But Michel had some idea that her part in the play was not an easy one,
+and was minded to spare her for that night.&nbsp; But she had promised
+to try, and she must be reminded of her promise.&nbsp; Hitherto she
+certainly had not tried.&nbsp; Hitherto she had been ill-tempered, petulant,
+and almost rude.&nbsp; He would not see her himself this evening, but
+he would send a message to her by his wife.&nbsp; &lsquo;Tell her from
+me that I shall expect to see smiles on her face to-morrow,&rsquo; said
+Michel Voss.&nbsp; And as he spoke there certainly were no smiles on
+his own.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I suppose she is flurried,&rsquo; said Madame Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Ah, flurried!&nbsp; That may do for to-night.&nbsp; I have been
+very good to her.&nbsp; Had she been my own, I could not have been kinder.&nbsp;
+I have loved her just as if she were my own.&nbsp; Of course I look
+now for the obedience of a child.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She does not mean to be undutiful, Michel.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I do not know about meaning.&nbsp; I like reality, and I will
+have it too.&nbsp; I consulted herself, and was more forbearing than
+most fathers would be.&nbsp; I talked to her about it, and she promised
+me that she would do her best to entertain the man.&nbsp; Now she receives
+him and me with an old frock and a sulky face.&nbsp; Who pays for her
+clothes?&nbsp; She has everything she wants, - just as a daughter, and
+she would not take the trouble to change her dress to grace my friend,
+- as you did, as any daughter would!&nbsp; I am angry with her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Do not be angry with her.&nbsp; I think I can understand why
+she did not put on another frock.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;So can I understand.&nbsp; I can understand well enough.&nbsp;
+I am not a fool.&nbsp; What is it she wants, I wonder?&nbsp; What is
+it she expects?&nbsp; Does she think some Count from Paris is to come
+and fetch her?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nay, Michel, I think she expects nothing of that sort.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then let her behave like any other young woman, and do as she
+is bid.&nbsp; He is not old or ugly, or a sot, or a gambler.&nbsp; Upon
+my word and honour I can&rsquo;t conceive what it is that she wants.&nbsp;
+I can&rsquo;t indeed.&rsquo;&nbsp; It was perhaps the fault of Michel
+Voss that he could not understand that a young woman should live in
+the same house with him, and have a want which he did not conceive.&nbsp;
+Poor Marie!&nbsp; All that she wanted now, at this moment, was to be
+let alone!<br>
+<br>
+Madame Voss, in obedience to her husband&rsquo;s commands, went up to
+Marie and found her sitting in the children&rsquo;s room, leaning with
+her head on her hand and her elbow on the table, while the children
+were asleep around her.&nbsp; She was waiting till the house should
+be quiet, so that she could go down and complete her work.&nbsp; &lsquo;O,
+is it you, Aunt Josey?&rsquo; she said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am waiting till
+uncle and M. Urmand are gone, that I may go down and put away the wine
+and the fruit.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Never mind that to-night, Marie.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O yes, I will go down presently.&nbsp; I should not be happy
+if the things were not put straight.&nbsp; Everything is about the house
+everywhere.&nbsp; We need not, I suppose, become like pigs because M.
+Urmand has come from Basle.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No; we need not be like pigs,&rsquo; said Madame Voss.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Come into my room a moment, Marie.&nbsp; I want to speak to you.&nbsp;
+Your uncle won&rsquo;t be up yet.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then she led the way,
+and Marie followed her.&nbsp; &lsquo;Your uncle is becoming angry, Marie,
+because - &rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Because why?&nbsp; Have I done anything to make him angry?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why are you so cross to this young man?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am not cross, Aunt Josey.&nbsp; I went on just the same as
+I always do.&nbsp; If Uncle Michel wants anything else, that is his
+fault; - not mine.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Of course you know what he wants, and I must say that you ought
+to obey him.&nbsp; You gave him a sort of a promise, and now he thinks
+that you are breaking it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I gave him no promise,&rsquo; said Marie stoutly.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He says that you told him that you would at any rate be civil
+to M. Urmand.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And I have been civil,&rsquo; said Marie.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You did not speak to him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I never do speak to anybody,&rsquo; said Marie.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+have got something to think of instead of talking to the people.&nbsp;
+How would the things go, if I took to talking to the people, and left
+everything to that little goose, Peter?&nbsp; Uncle Michel is unreasonable,
+- and unkind.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He means to do the best by you in his power.&nbsp; He wants to
+treat you just as though you were his daughter.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then let him leave me alone.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t want anything
+to be done.&nbsp; If I were his daughter he would not grudge me permission
+to stop at home in his house.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t want anything else.&nbsp;
+I have never complained.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But, my dear, it is time that you should be settled in the world.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am settled.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t want any other settlement,
+- if they will only let me alone.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Marie,&rsquo; said Madame Voss after a short pause, &lsquo;I
+sometimes think that you still have got George Voss in your head.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Is it that, Aunt Josey, that makes my uncle go on like this?&rsquo;
+asked Marie.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You do not answer me, child.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I do not know what answer you want.&nbsp; When George was here,
+I hardly spoke to him.&nbsp; If Uncle Michel is afraid of me, I will
+give him my solemn promise never to marry any one without his permission.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;George Voss will never come back for you,&rsquo; said Madame
+Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He will come when I ask him,&rsquo; said Marie, flashing round
+upon her aunt with all the fire of her bright eyes.&nbsp; &lsquo;Does
+any one say that I have done anything to bring him to me?&nbsp; If so,
+it is false, whoever says it.&nbsp; I have done nothing.&nbsp; He has
+gone away, and let him stay.&nbsp; I shall not send for him.&nbsp; Uncle
+Michel need not be afraid of me, because of George.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+By this time Marie was speaking almost in a fury of passion, and her
+aunt was almost subdued by her.&nbsp; &lsquo;Nobody is afraid of you,
+Marie,&rsquo; she said.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nobody need be.&nbsp; If they will let me alone, I will do no
+harm to any one.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But, Marie, you would wish to be married some day.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why should I wish to be married?&nbsp; If I liked him, I would
+take him, but I don&rsquo;t.&nbsp; O, Aunt Josey, I thought you would
+be my friend!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I cannot be your friend, Marie, if you oppose your uncle.&nbsp;
+He has done everything for you, and he must know best what is good for
+you.&nbsp; There can be no reason against M. Urmand, and if you persist
+in being so unruly, he will only think that it is because you want George
+to come back for you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I care nothing for George,&rsquo; said Marie, as she left the
+room; &lsquo;nothing at all - nothing.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+About half-an-hour afterwards, listening at her own door, she heard
+the sound of her uncle&rsquo;s feet as he went to his room, and knew
+that the house was quiet.&nbsp; Then she crept forth, and went about
+her business.&nbsp; Nobody should say that she neglected anything because
+of this unhappiness.&nbsp; She brushed the crumbs from the long table,
+and smoothed the cloth for the next morning&rsquo;s breakfast; she put
+away bottles and dishes, and she locked up cupboards, and saw that the
+windows and the doors were fastened.&nbsp; Then she went down to her
+books in the little office below stairs.&nbsp; In the performance of
+her daily duty there were entries to be made and figures to be adjusted,
+which would have been done in the course of the evening, had it not
+been that she had been driven upstairs by fear of her lover and her
+uncle.&nbsp; But by the time that she took herself up to bed, nothing
+had been omitted.&nbsp; And after the book was closed she sat there,
+trying to resolve what she would do.&nbsp; Nothing had, perhaps, given
+her so sharp a pang as her aunt&rsquo;s assurance that George Voss would
+not come back to her, as her aunt&rsquo;s suspicion that she was looking
+for his return.&nbsp; It was not that she had been deserted, but that
+others should be able to taunt her with her desolation.&nbsp; She had
+never whispered the name of George to any one since he had left Granpere,
+and she thought that she might have been spared this indignity.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;If he fancies I want to interfere with him,&rsquo; she said to
+herself, thinking of her uncle, and of her uncle&rsquo;s plans in reference
+to his son, &lsquo;he will find that he is mistaken.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then
+it occurred to her that she would be driven to accept Adrian Urmand
+to prove that she was heart-whole in regard to George Voss.<br>
+<br>
+She sat there, thinking of it till the night was half-spent, and when
+she crept up cold to bed, she had almost made up her mind that it would
+be best for her to do as her uncle wished.&nbsp; As for loving the man,
+that was out of the question.&nbsp; But then would it not be better
+to do without love altogether?<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER VIII.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;How is it to be?&rsquo; said Michel to his niece the next morning.&nbsp;
+The question was asked downstairs in the little room, while Urmand was
+sitting at table in the chamber above waiting for the landlord.&nbsp;
+Michel Voss had begun to feel that his visitor would be very heavy on
+hand, having come there as a visitor and not as a man of business, unless
+he could be handed over to the woman-kind.&nbsp; But no such handing
+over would be possible, unless Marie would acquiesce.&nbsp; &lsquo;How
+is it to be?&rsquo; Michel asked.&nbsp; He had so prepared himself that
+he was ready in accordance with a word or a look from his niece either
+to be very angry, thoroughly imperious, and resolute to have his way
+with the dependent girl, or else to be all smiles, and kindness, and
+confidence, and affection.&nbsp; There was nothing she should not have,
+if she would only be amenable to reason.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;How is what to be, Uncle Michel?&rsquo; said Marie.<br>
+<br>
+The landlord thought that he discovered an indication of concession
+in his niece&rsquo;s voice, and began immediately to adapt himself to
+the softer courses.&nbsp; &lsquo;Well, Marie, you know what it is we
+all wish.&nbsp; I hope you understand that we love you well, and think
+so much of you, that we would not intrust you to any one living, who
+did not bear a high character and seem to deserve you.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+He was looking into Marie&rsquo;s face as he spoke, and saw that she
+was soft and thoughtful in her mood, not proud and scornful as she had
+been on the preceding evening.&nbsp; &lsquo;You have grown up here with
+us, Marie, till it has almost come upon us with surprise that you are
+a beautiful young woman, instead of a great straggling girl.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I wish I was a great straggling girl still.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Do not say that, my darling.&nbsp; We must all take the world
+as it is, you know.&nbsp; But here you are, and of course it is my duty
+and your aunt&rsquo;s duty - &rsquo; it was always a sign of high good
+humour on the part of Michel Voss, when he spoke of his wife as being
+anybody in the household - &rsquo;my duty and your aunt&rsquo;s duty
+to see and do the best for you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You have always done the best for me in letting me be here.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well, my dear, I hope so.&nbsp; You had to be here, and you fell
+into this way of life naturally.&nbsp; But sometimes, when I have seen
+you waiting on the people about the house, I&rsquo;ve thought it wasn&rsquo;t
+quite right.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I think it was quite right.&nbsp; Peter couldn&rsquo;t do it
+all, and he&rsquo;d be sure to make a mess of it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;We must have two Peters; that&rsquo;s all.&nbsp; But as I was
+saying, that kind of thing was natural enough before you were grown
+up, and had become - what shall I say? - such a handsome young woman.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Marie laughed, and turned up her nose and shook her head; but it may
+be presumed that she received some comfort from her uncle&rsquo;s compliments.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;And then I began to see, and your aunt began to see, that it
+wasn&rsquo;t right that you should spend your life handing soup to the
+young men here.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is Peter who always hands the soup to the young men.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well, well; but you are waiting upon them, and upon us.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I trust the day is never to come, uncle, when I&rsquo;m to be
+ashamed of waiting upon you.&rsquo;&nbsp; When he heard this, he put
+his arm round her and kissed her.&nbsp; Had he known at that moment
+what her feelings were in regard to his son, he would have recommended
+Adrian Urmand to go back to Basle.&nbsp; Had he known what were George&rsquo;s
+feelings, he would at once have sent for his son from Colmar.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I hope you may give me my pipe and my cup of coffee when I&rsquo;m
+such an old fellow that I can&rsquo;t get up to help myself.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s
+the sort of reward we look forward to from those we love and cherish.&nbsp;
+But, Marie, when we see you as you are now - your aunt and I - we feel
+that this kind of thing shouldn&rsquo;t go on.&nbsp; We want the world
+to know that you are a daughter to us, not a servant.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, the world - the world, uncle!&nbsp; Why should we care for
+the world?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;We must care, my dear.&nbsp; And you yourself, my dear - if this
+went on for a few years longer, you yourself would become very tired
+of it.&nbsp; It isn&rsquo;t what we should like for you, if you were
+our own daughter.&nbsp; Can&rsquo;t you understand that?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, I can&rsquo;t.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes, my dear, yes.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m sure you do.&nbsp; Very well.&nbsp;
+Then there comes this young man.&nbsp; I am not a bit surprised that
+he should fall in love with you - because I should do it myself if I
+were not your uncle.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then she caressed his arm.&nbsp; How
+was she to keep herself from caressing him, when he spoke so sweetly
+to her?&nbsp; &lsquo;We were not a bit surprised when he came and told
+us how it was.&nbsp; Nobody could have behaved better.&nbsp; Everybody
+must admit that.&nbsp; He spoke of you to me and to your aunt as though
+you were the highest lady in the land.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t want any one to speak of me as though I were a
+high lady.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I mean in the way of respect, my dear.&nbsp; Every young woman
+must wish to be treated with respect by any young man who comes after
+her.&nbsp; Well; - he told us that it was the great wish of his life
+that you should be his wife.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s a man who has a right
+to look for a wife, because he can keep a wife.&nbsp; He has a house,
+and a business, and ready money.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What&rsquo;s all that, uncle?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nothing; - nothing at all.&nbsp; No more than that,&rsquo; -
+saying which Michel Voss threw his right hand and arm loosely abroad;
+- &rsquo;no more than that, if he were not himself well-behaved along
+with it.&nbsp; We want to see you married to him, - your aunt and I,
+- because we are sure that he will be a good husband to you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But if I don&rsquo;t love him, Uncle Michel?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Ah, my dear; that&rsquo;s where I think it is that you are dreaming,
+and will go on dreaming till you&rsquo;ve lost yourself, unless your
+aunt and I interfere to prevent it.&nbsp; Love is all very well.&nbsp;
+Of course you must love your husband.&nbsp; But it doesn&rsquo;t do
+for young women to let themselves be run away with by romantic ideas;
+- it doesn&rsquo;t, indeed, my dear.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve heard of young
+women who&rsquo;ve fallen in love with statues and men in armour out
+of poetry, and grand fellows that they put into books, and there they&rsquo;ve
+been waiting, waiting, waiting, till some man in armour should come
+for them.&nbsp; The man in armour doesn&rsquo;t come.&nbsp; But sometimes
+there comes somebody who looks like a man in armour, and that&rsquo;s
+the worst of all.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t want a man in armour, Uncle Michel.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, I daresay not.&nbsp; But the truth is, you don&rsquo;t know
+what you want.&nbsp; The proper thing for a young woman is to get herself
+well settled, if she has the opportunity.&nbsp; There are people who
+think so much of money, that they&rsquo;d give a child almost to anybody
+as long as he was rich.&nbsp; I shouldn&rsquo;t like to see you marry
+a man as old as myself.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I shouldn&rsquo;t care how old he was if I loved him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nor to a curmudgeon,&rsquo; continued Michel, not caring to notice
+the interruption, &lsquo;nor to an ill-tempered fellow, or one who gambled,
+or one who would use bad words to you.&nbsp; But here is a young man
+who has no faults at all.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I hate people who have no faults,&rsquo; said Marie.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Now you must give him an answer to-day or to-morrow.&nbsp; You
+remember what you promised me when we were coming home the other day.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Marie remembered her promise very well, and thought that a great deal
+more had been made of it than justice would have permitted.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+don&rsquo;t want to hurry you at all, only it makes me so sad at heart
+when my own girl won&rsquo;t come and say a kind word to me and give
+me a kiss before we part at night.&nbsp; I thought so much of that last
+night, Marie, I couldn&rsquo;t sleep for thinking of it.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+On hearing this, she flung her arms round his neck and kissed him on
+each cheek and on his lips.&nbsp; &lsquo;I get to feel so, Marie, if
+there&rsquo;s anything wrong between you and me, that I don&rsquo;t
+know what I&rsquo;m doing.&nbsp; Will you do this for me, my dear?&nbsp;
+Come and sit at table with us this evening, and make one of us.&nbsp;
+At any rate, come and show that we don&rsquo;t want to make a servant
+of you.&nbsp; Then we&rsquo;ll put off the rest of it till to-morrow.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+When such a request was made to her in such words, how could she not
+accede to it?&nbsp; She had no alternative but to say that she would
+do in this respect as he would have her.&nbsp; She smiled, and nodded
+her head, and kissed him again.&nbsp; &lsquo;And, Marie darling, put
+on a pretty frock, - for my sake.&nbsp; I like to see you gay and pretty.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Again she nodded her head, and again she kissed him.&nbsp; Such requests,
+so made, she felt that it would be impossible she should refuse.<br>
+<br>
+And yet when she came to think of it as she went about the house alone,
+the granting of such requests was in fact yielding in everything.&nbsp;
+If she made herself smart for this young man, and sat next him, and
+smiled, and talked to him, conscious as she would be - and he would
+be also - that she was so placed that she might become his wife, how
+afterwards could she hold her ground?&nbsp; And if she were really resolute
+to hold her ground, would it not be much better that she should do so
+by giving up no point, even though her uncle&rsquo;s anger should rise
+hot against her?&nbsp; But now she had promised her uncle, and she knew
+that she could not go back from her word.&nbsp; It would be better for
+her, she told herself, to think no more about it.&nbsp; Things must
+arrange themselves.&nbsp; What did it matter whether she were wretched
+at Basle or wretched at Granpere?&nbsp; The only thing that could give
+a charm to her life was altogether out of her reach.<br>
+<br>
+After this conversation, Michel went upstairs to his young friend, and
+within a quarter of an hour had handed him over to his wife.&nbsp; It
+was of course understood now that Marie was not to be troubled till
+the time came for her to sit down at table with her smart frock.&nbsp;
+Michel explained to his wife the full amount of his success, and acknowledged
+that he felt that Marie was already pretty nearly overcome.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She&rsquo;ll try to be pleasant for my sake this evening,&rsquo;
+he said, &lsquo;and so she&rsquo;ll fall into the way of being intimate
+with him; and when he asks her to-morrow she&rsquo;ll be forced to take
+him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+It never occurred to him, as he said this, that he was forming a plan
+for sacrificing the girl he loved.&nbsp; He imagined that he was doing
+his duty by his niece thoroughly, and was rather proud of his own generosity.&nbsp;
+In the afternoon Adrian Urmand was taken out for a drive to the ravine
+by Madame Voss.&nbsp; They both, no doubt, felt that this was very tedious;
+but they were by nature patient - quite unlike Michel Voss or Marie
+- and each of them was aware that there was a duty to be done.&nbsp;
+Adrian therefore was satisfied to potter about the ravine, and Madame
+Voss assured him at least a dozen times that it was the dearest wish
+of her heart to call him her nephew-in-law.<br>
+<br>
+At last the time for supper came.&nbsp; Throughout the day Marie had
+said very little to any one after leaving her uncle.&nbsp; Ideas flitted
+across her mind of various modes of escape.&nbsp; What if she were to
+run away - to her cousin&rsquo;s house at Epinal; and write from thence
+to say that this proposed marriage was impossible?&nbsp; But her cousin
+at Epinal was a stranger to her, and her uncle had always been to her
+the same as a father.&nbsp; Then she thought of going to Colmar, of
+telling the whole truth to George, and of dying when he refused her
+- as refuse her he would.&nbsp; But this was a dream rather than a plan.&nbsp;
+Or how would it be if she went to her uncle now at once, while the young
+man was away at the ravine, and swore to him that nothing on earth should
+induce her to marry Adrian Urmand?&nbsp; But brave as Marie was, she
+was afraid to do this.&nbsp; He had told her how he suffered when they
+two did not stand well together, and she feared to be accused by him
+of unkindness and ingratitude.&nbsp; And how would it be with her if
+she did accept the man?&nbsp; She was sufficiently alive to the necessities
+of the world to know that it would be well to have a home of her own,
+and a husband, and children if God would send them.&nbsp; She understood
+quite as well as Michel Voss did that to be head-waiter at the Lion
+d&rsquo;Or was not a career in life of which she could have reason to
+be proud.&nbsp; As the afternoon went on she was in great doubt.&nbsp;
+She spread the cloth, and prepared the room for supper, somewhat earlier
+than usual, knowing that she should require some minutes for her toilet.&nbsp;
+It was necessary that she should explain to Peter that he must take
+upon himself some self-action upon this occasion, and it may be doubted
+whether she did this with perfect good humour.&nbsp; She was angry when
+she had to look for him before she commenced her operations, and scolded
+him because he could not understand without being told why she went
+away and left him twenty minutes before the bell was rung.<br>
+<br>
+As soon as the bell was heard through the house, Michel Voss, who was
+waiting below with his wife in a quiet unusual manner, marshalled the
+way upstairs.&nbsp; He had partly expected that Marie would join them
+below, and was becoming fidgety lest she should break away from her
+engagement.&nbsp; He went first, and then followed Adrian and Madame
+Voss together.&nbsp; The accustomed guests were all ready, because it
+had come to be generally understood that this supper was to be as it
+were a supper of betrothal.&nbsp; Madame Voss had on her black silk
+gown.&nbsp; Michel had changed his coat and his cravat.&nbsp; Adrian
+Urmand was exceedingly smart.&nbsp; The dullest intellect could perceive
+that there was something special in the wind.&nbsp; The two old ladies
+who were lodgers in the house came out from their rooms five minutes
+earlier than usual, and met the <i>cort&eacute;ge</i> from downstairs
+in the passage.<br>
+<br>
+When Michel entered the room he at once looked round for Marie.&nbsp;
+There she was standing at the soup-tureen with her back to the company.&nbsp;
+But he could see that there hung down some ribbon from her waist, that
+her frock was not the one she had worn in the morning, and that in the
+article of her attire she had kept her word with him.&nbsp; He was very
+awkward.&nbsp; When one of the old ladies was about to seat herself
+in the chair next to Adrian - in preparation for which it must be admitted
+that Marie had made certain wicked arrangements - Michel first by signs
+and afterwards with audible words, intended to be whispered, indicated
+to the lady that she was required to place herself elsewhere.&nbsp;
+This was hard upon the lady, as her own table-napkin and a cup out of
+which she was wont to drink were placed at that spot.&nbsp; Marie, standing
+at the soup-tureen, heard it all and became very spiteful.&nbsp; Then
+her uncle called to her:<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Marie, my dear, are you not coming?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Presently, uncle,&rsquo; replied Marie, in a clear voice, as
+she commenced to dispense the soup.<br>
+<br>
+She ladled out all the soup without once turning her face towards the
+company, then stood for a few moments as if in doubt, and after that
+walked boldly up to her place.&nbsp; She had intended to sit next to
+her uncle, opposite to her lover, and there had been her chair.&nbsp;
+But Michel had insisted on bringing the old lady round to the seat that
+Marie had intended for herself, and so had disarranged all her plans.&nbsp;
+The old lady had simpered and smiled and made a little speech to M.
+Urmand, which everybody had heard.&nbsp; Marie, too, had heard it all.&nbsp;
+But the thing had to be done, and she plucked up her courage and did
+it.&nbsp; She placed herself next to her lover, and as she did so, felt
+that it was necessary that she should say something at the moment:<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Here I am, Uncle Michel; but you&rsquo;ll find you&rsquo;ll miss
+me, before supper is over.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;There is somebody would much rather have you than his supper,&rsquo;
+said the horrid old lady opposite.<br>
+<br>
+Then there was a pause, a terrible pause.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Perhaps it used to be so when young men came to sup with you,
+years ago; but nowadays men like their supper,&rsquo; said Marie, who
+was driven on by her anger to a ferocity which she could not restrain.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I did not mean to give offence,&rsquo; said the poor old lady
+meekly.<br>
+<br>
+Marie, as she thought of what she had said, repented so bitterly that
+she could hardly refrain from tears.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;There is no offence at all,&rsquo; said Michel angrily.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Will you allow me to give you a little wine?&rsquo; said Adrian,
+turning to his neighbour.<br>
+<br>
+Marie bowed her head, and held her glass, but the wine remained in it
+to the end of the supper, and there it was left.<br>
+<br>
+When it was all over, Michel felt that it had not been a success.&nbsp;
+With the exception of her savage speech to the disagreeable old lady,
+Marie had behaved well.&nbsp; She was on her mettle, and very anxious
+to show that she could sit at table with Adrian Urmand, and be at her
+ease.&nbsp; She was not at her ease, but she made a bold fight - which
+was more than was done by her uncle or her aunt.&nbsp; Michel was unable
+to speak in his ordinary voice or with his usual authority, and Madame
+Voss hardly uttered a word.&nbsp; Urmand, whose position was the hardest
+of all, struggled gallantly, but was quite unable to keep up any continued
+conversation.&nbsp; The old lady had been thoroughly silenced, and neither
+she nor her sister again opened their mouth.&nbsp; When Madame Voss
+rose from her chair in order that they might all retire, the consciousness
+of relief was very great.<br>
+<br>
+For that night Marie&rsquo;s duty to her uncle was done.&nbsp; So much
+had been understood.&nbsp; She was to dress herself and sit down to
+supper, and after that she was not to be disturbed again till the morrow.&nbsp;
+On the next morning she was to be subjected to the grand trial.&nbsp;
+She understood this so well that she went about the house fearless on
+that evening - fearless as regarded the moment, fearful only as regarded
+the morrow.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;May I ask one question, dear?&rsquo; said her aunt, coming to
+her after she had gone to her own room.&nbsp; &lsquo;Have you made up
+your mind?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said Marie; &lsquo;I have not made up my mind.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Her aunt stood for a moment looking at her, and then crept out of the
+room.<br>
+<br>
+In the morning Michel Voss was half-inclined to release his niece, and
+to tell Urmand that he had better go back to Basle.&nbsp; He could see
+that the girl was suffering, and, after all, what was it that he wanted?&nbsp;
+Only that she should be prosperous and happy.&nbsp; His heart almost
+relented; and at one moment, had Marie come across him, he would have
+released her.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let it go on,&rsquo; he said to himself,
+as he took up his cap and stick, and went off to the woods.&nbsp; &lsquo;Let
+it go on.&nbsp; If she finds to-day that she can&rsquo;t take him, I&rsquo;ll
+never say another word to press her.&rsquo;&nbsp; He went up to the
+woods after breakfast, and did not come back till the evening.<br>
+<br>
+During breakfast Marie did not show herself at all, but remained with
+the children.&nbsp; It was not expected that she should show herself.&nbsp;
+At about noon, as soon as her uncle had started, her aunt came to her
+and asked her whether she was ready to see M. Urmand.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+am ready,&rsquo; said Marie, rising from her seat, and standing upright
+before her aunt.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And where will you see him, dear?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Wherever he pleases,&rsquo; said Marie, with something that was
+again almost savage in her voice.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Shall he come up-stairs to you?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What, here?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No; he cannot come here.&nbsp; You might go into the little sitting-room.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Very well.&nbsp; I will go into the little sitting room.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Then without saying another word she got up, left the room, and went
+along the passage to the chamber in question.&nbsp; It was a small room,
+furnished, as they all thought at Granpere, with Parisian elegance,
+intended for such visitors to the hotel as might choose to pay for the
+charm and luxury of such an apartment.&nbsp; It was generally found
+that visitors to Granpere did not care to pay for the luxury of this
+Parisian elegance, and the room was almost always empty.&nbsp; Thither
+Marie went, and seated herself at once on the centre of the red, stuffy,
+velvet sofa.&nbsp; There she sat, perfectly motionless, till there came
+a knock at the door.&nbsp; Marie Bromar was a very handsome girl, but
+as she sat there, all alone, with her hands crossed on her lap, with
+a hard look about her mouth, with a frown on her brow, and scorn and
+disdain for all around her in her eyes, she was as little handsome as
+it was possible that she should make herself.&nbsp; She answered the
+knock, and Adrian Urmand entered the room.&nbsp; She did not rise, but
+waited till he had come close up to her.&nbsp; Then she was the first
+to speak.&nbsp; &lsquo;Aunt Josey tells me that you want to see me,&rsquo;
+she said.<br>
+<br>
+Urmand&rsquo;s task was certainly not a pleasant one.&nbsp; Though his
+temper was excellent, he was already beginning to think that he was
+being ill-used.&nbsp; Marie, no doubt, was a very fine girl, but the
+match that he offered her was one at which no young woman of her rank
+in all Lorraine or Alsace need have turned up her nose.&nbsp; He had
+been invited over to Granpere specially that he might spend his time
+in making love, and he had found the task before him very hard and disagreeable.&nbsp;
+He was afflicted with all the ponderous notoriety of an acknowledged
+suitor&rsquo;s position, but was consoled with none of the usual comforts.&nbsp;
+Had he not been pledged to make the attempt, he would probably have
+gone back to Basle; as it was, he was compelled to renew his offer.&nbsp;
+He was aware that he could not leave the house without doing so.&nbsp;
+But he was determined that one more refusal should be the last.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Marie,&rsquo; said he, putting out his hand to her, &lsquo;doubtless
+you know what it is that I would say.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I suppose I do,&rsquo; she answered.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I hope you do not doubt my true affection for you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+She paused a moment before she replied.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have no reason
+to doubt it,&rsquo; she said.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No indeed.&nbsp; I love you with all my heart.&nbsp; I do truly.&nbsp;
+Your uncle and aunt think it would be a good thing for both of us that
+we should be married.&nbsp; What answer will you make me, Marie?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Again she paused.&nbsp; She had allowed him to take her hand, and as
+he thus asked his question he was standing opposite to her, still holding
+it.&nbsp; &lsquo;You have thought about it, Marie, since I was here
+last?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; I have thought about it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well, dearest?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I suppose it had better be so,&rsquo; said she, standing up and
+withdrawing her hand.<br>
+<br>
+She had accepted him; and now it was no longer possible for him to go
+back to Basle except as a betrothed man.&nbsp; She had accepted him;
+but there came upon him a wretched feeling that none of the triumph
+of successful love had come to him.&nbsp; He was almost disappointed,
+- or if not disappointed, was at any rate embarrassed.&nbsp; But it
+was necessary that he should immediately conduct himself as an engaged
+man.&nbsp; &lsquo;And you will love me, Marie?&rsquo; he said, as he
+again took her by the hand.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I will do my best,&rsquo; she said.<br>
+<br>
+Then he put his arm round her waist and kissed her, and she did not
+turn away her face from him.&nbsp; &lsquo;I will do my best also to
+make you happy,&rsquo; he said.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am sure you will.&nbsp; I believe you.&nbsp; I know that you
+are good.&rsquo;&nbsp; There was another pause during which he stood,
+still embracing her.&nbsp; &lsquo;I may go now; may I not?&rsquo; she
+said.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You have not kissed me yet, Marie?&rsquo;&nbsp; Then she kissed
+him; but the touch of her lips was cold, and he felt that there was
+no love in them.&nbsp; He knew, though he could hardly define the knowledge
+to himself, that she had accepted him in obedience to her uncle.&nbsp;
+He was almost angry, but being cautious and even-tempered by nature
+he repressed the feeling.&nbsp; He knew that he must take her now, and
+that he had better make the best of it.&nbsp; She would, he was sure,
+be a good wife, and the love would probably come in time.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;We shall be together this evening; shall we not?&rsquo; he asked.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, yes,&rsquo; said Marie, &lsquo;if you please.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+It was, as she knew, only reasonable now that they should be together.&nbsp;
+Then he let her go, and she walked off to her room.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER IX.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I suppose it had better be so,&rsquo; Marie Bromar had said to
+her lover, when in set form he made his proposition.&nbsp; She had thought
+very much about it, and had come exactly to that state of mind.&nbsp;
+She did suppose that it had better be so.&nbsp; She knew that she did
+not love the man.&nbsp; She knew also that she loved another man.&nbsp;
+She did not even think that she should ever learn to love Adrian Urmand.&nbsp;
+She had neither ambition in the matter, nor even any feeling of prudence
+as regarded herself.&nbsp; She was enticed by no desire of position,
+or love of money.&nbsp; In respect to all her own feelings about herself
+she would sooner have remained at the Lion d&rsquo;Or, and have waited
+upon the guests day after day, and month after month.&nbsp; But yet
+she had supposed &lsquo;that it had better be so.&rsquo;&nbsp; Her uncle
+wished it, - wished it so strongly that she believed it would be impossible
+that she could remain an inmate in his house, unless she acceded to
+his wishes.&nbsp; Her aunt manifestly thought that it was her duty to
+accept the man, and could not understand how so manifest a duty, going
+hand in hand as it did with so great an advantage, should be made a
+matter of doubt.&nbsp; She had not one about her to counsel her to hold
+by her own feelings.&nbsp; It was the practice of the world around her
+that girls in such matters should do as they were bidden.&nbsp; And
+then, stronger than all, there was the indifference to her of the man
+she loved!<br>
+<br>
+Marie Bromar was a fine, high-spirited, animated girl; but it must not
+be thought that she was a highly educated lady, or that time had been
+given to her amidst all her occupations, in which she could allow her
+mind to dwell much on feelings of romance.&nbsp; Her life had ever been
+practical, busy, and full of action.&nbsp; As is ever the case with
+those who have to do chiefly with things material, she was thinking
+more frequently of the outer wants of those around her, than of the
+inner workings of her own heart and personal intelligence.&nbsp; Would
+the bread rise well?&nbsp; Would that bargain she had made for poultry
+suffice for the house?&nbsp; Was that lot of wine which she had persuaded
+her uncle to buy of a creditable quality?&nbsp; Were her efforts for
+increasing her uncle&rsquo;s profits compatible with satisfaction on
+the part of her uncle&rsquo;s guests?&nbsp; Such were the questions
+which from day to day occupied her attention and filled her with interest.&nbsp;
+And therefore her own identity was not strong to her, as it is strong
+to those whose business permits them to look frequently into themselves,
+or whose occupations are of a nature to produce such introspection.&nbsp;
+If her head ached, or had she lamed her hand by any accident, she would
+think more of the injury to the household arising from her incapacity
+than of her own pain.&nbsp; It is so, reader, with your gardener, your
+groom, or your cook, if you will think of it.&nbsp; Till you tell them
+by your pity that they are the sufferers, they will think that it is
+you who are most affected by their ailments.&nbsp; And the man who loses
+his daily wage because he is ill complains of his loss and not of his
+ailment.&nbsp; His own identity is half hidden from him by the practical
+wants of his life.<br>
+<br>
+Had Marie been disappointed in her love without the appearance of any
+rival suitor, no one would have ever heard of her love.&nbsp; Had George
+Voss married, she would have gone on with her work without a sign of
+outward sorrow; or had he died, she would have wept for him with no
+peculiar tears.&nbsp; She did not expect much from the world around
+her, beyond this, that the guests should not complain about their suppers
+as long as the suppers provided were reasonably good.&nbsp; Had no great
+undertaking been presented to her, the performance of no heavy task
+demanded from her, she would have gone on with her work without showing
+even by the altered colour of her cheek that she was a sufferer.&nbsp;
+But this other man had come, - this Adrian Urmand; and a great undertaking
+was presented to her, and the performance of a heavy task was demanded
+from her.&nbsp; Then it was necessary that there should be identity
+of self and introspection.&nbsp; She had to ask herself whether the
+task was practicable, whether its performance was within the scope of
+her powers.&nbsp; She told herself at first that it was not to be done;
+that it was one which she would not even attempt.&nbsp; Then as she
+looked at it more frequently, as she came to understand how great was
+the urgency of her uncle; as she came to find, in performing that task
+of introspection, how unimportant a person she was herself, she began
+to think that the attempt might be made.&nbsp; &lsquo;I suppose it had
+better be so,&rsquo; she had said.&nbsp; What was she that she should
+stand in the way of so many wishes?&nbsp; As she had worked for her
+bread in her uncle&rsquo;s house at Granpere, so would she work for
+her bread in her husband&rsquo;s house at Basle.&nbsp; No doubt there
+were other things to be joined to her work, - things the thought of
+which dismayed her.&nbsp; She had fought against them for a while; but,
+after all, what was she, that she should trouble the world by fighting?&nbsp;
+When she got to Basle she would endeavour to see that the bread should
+rise there, and the wine be sufficient, and the supper such as her husband
+might wish it to be.<br>
+<br>
+Was it not the manifest duty of every girl to act after this fashion?&nbsp;
+Were not all marriages so arranged in the world around her?&nbsp; Among
+the Protestants of Alsace, as she knew, there was some greater latitude
+of choice than was ever allowed by the stricter discipline of Roman
+Catholic education.&nbsp; But then she was a Roman Catholic, as was
+her aunt; and she was too proud and too grateful to claim any peculiar
+exemption from the Protestantism of her uncle.&nbsp; She had resolved
+during those early hours of the morning that &lsquo;it had better be
+so.&rsquo;&nbsp; She thought that she could go through with it all,
+if only they would not tease her, and ask her to wear her Sunday frock,
+and force her to sit down with them at table.&nbsp; Let them settle
+the day - with a word or two thrown in by herself to increase the distance
+- and she would be absolutely submissive, on condition that nothing
+should be required of her till the day should come.&nbsp; There would
+be a bad week or two then while she was being carried off to her new
+home; but she had looked forward and had told herself that she would
+fill her mind with the care of one man&rsquo;s house, as she had hitherto
+filled it with the care of the house of another man.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;So it is all right,&rsquo; said her aunt, rushing up to her with
+warm congratulations, ready to flatter her, prone to admire her.&nbsp;
+It would be something to have a niece married to Adrian Urmand, the
+successful young merchant of Basle.&nbsp; Marie Bromar was already in
+her aunt&rsquo;s eyes something different from her former self.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I hope so, aunt.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Hope so; but it is so, you have accepted him?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I hope it is right, I mean.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Of course it is right&rsquo; said Madame Voss.&nbsp; &lsquo;How
+can it be wrong for a girl to accept the man whom all her friends wish
+her to marry?&nbsp; It must be right.&nbsp; And your uncle will be so
+happy.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Dear uncle!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes, indeed.&nbsp; He has been so good; and it has made me wretched
+to see that he has been disturbed.&nbsp; He has been as anxious that
+you should be settled well, as though you had been his own.&nbsp; And
+this will be to be settled well.&nbsp; I am told that M. Urmand&rsquo;s
+house is one of those which look down upon the river from near the church;
+the very best position in all the town.&nbsp; And it is full of everything,
+they say.&nbsp; His father spared nothing for furniture when he was
+married.&nbsp; And they say that his mother&rsquo;s linen was quite
+a sight to be seen.&nbsp; And then, Marie, everybody acknowledges that
+he is such a nice-looking young man!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+But it was not a part of Marie&rsquo;s programme to be waked up to enthusiasm
+- at any rate by her aunt.&nbsp; She said little or nothing, and would
+not even condescend to consider that interesting question, of the day
+of the wedding.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is quite time enough for all that,
+Aunt Josey,&rsquo; she said, as she got up to go about her work.&nbsp;
+Aunt Josey was almost inclined to resent such usage, and would have
+done so, had not her respect for her niece been so great.<br>
+<br>
+Michel did not return till near seven, and walking straight through
+his wife&rsquo;s room to Marie&rsquo;s seat of office, came upon his
+niece before he had seen any one else.&nbsp; There was an angry look
+about his brow, for he had been trying to teach himself that he was
+ill-used by his niece, in spite of that half-formed resolution to release
+her from persecution if she were still firm in her opposition to the
+marriage.&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo; he said, as soon as he saw her,
+- &rsquo;well, how is it to be?&rsquo;&nbsp; She got off her stool,
+and coming close to him put up her face to be kissed.&nbsp; He understood
+it all in a moment, and the whole tone and colour of his countenance
+was altered.&nbsp; There was no man whose face would become more radiant
+with satisfaction than that of Michel Voss - when he was satisfied.&nbsp;
+Please him - and immediately there would be an effort on his part to
+please everybody around him.&nbsp; &lsquo;My darling, my own one,&rsquo;
+he said, &lsquo;it is all right.&rsquo;&nbsp; She kissed him again and
+pressed his arm, but said not a word.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am so glad,&rsquo;
+he exclaimed; &lsquo;I am so glad!&rsquo;&nbsp; And he knocked off his
+cap with his hand, not knowing what he was doing.&nbsp; &lsquo;We shall
+have but a poor house without you, Marie - a very poor house.&nbsp;
+But it is as it ought to be.&nbsp; I have felt for the last year or
+two, as you have sprung up to be such a woman among us, my dear, that
+there was only one place fit for such a one.&nbsp; It is proper that
+you should be mistress wherever you are.&nbsp; It has wounded me - I
+don&rsquo;t mind saying it now - it has wounded me to see you waiting
+on the sort of people that come here.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I have only been too happy, uncle, in doing it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That&rsquo;s all very well; that&rsquo;s all very well, my dear.&nbsp;
+But I am older than you, and time goes quick with me.&nbsp; I tell you
+it made me unhappy.&nbsp; I thought I wasn&rsquo;t doing my duty by
+you.&nbsp; I was beginning to know that you ought to have a house and
+servants of your own.&nbsp; People say that it is a great match for
+you; but I tell them that it is a great match for him.&nbsp; Perhaps
+it is because you&rsquo;ve been my own in a way, but I don&rsquo;t see
+any girl like you round the country.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You shouldn&rsquo;t say such things to flatter me, Uncle Michel.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I choose to say what I please, and think what I please, about
+my own girl,&rsquo; he said, with his arm close wound round her.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I say it&rsquo;s a great match for Adrian Urmand, and I am quite
+sure that he will not contradict me.&nbsp; He has had sense enough to
+know what sort of a young woman will make the best wife for him, and
+I respect him for it.&nbsp; I shall always respect Adrian Urmand because
+he has known better than to take up with one of your town-bred girls,
+who never learn anything except how to flaunt about with as much finery
+on their backs as they can get their people to give them.&nbsp; He might
+have had the pick of them at Basle, - or at Strasbourg either, for the
+matter of that; but he has thought my girl better than them all; and
+I love him for it - so I do.&nbsp; It was to be expected that a young
+fellow with means to please himself should choose to have a good-looking
+wife to sit at his table with him.&nbsp; Who&rsquo;ll blame him for
+that?&nbsp; And he has found the prettiest in all the country round.&nbsp;
+But he has wanted something more than good looks, - and he has got a
+great deal more.&nbsp; Yes; I say it, I, Michel Voss, though I am your
+uncle; - that he has got the pride of the whole country round.&nbsp;
+My darling, my own one, my child!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+All this was said with many interjections, and with sundry pauses in
+the speech, during which Michel caressed his niece, and pressed her
+to his breast, and signified his joy by all the outward modes of expression
+which a man so demonstrative knows how to use.&nbsp; This was a moment
+of great triumph to him, because he had begun to despair of success
+in this matter of the marriage, and had told himself on this very morning
+that the affair was almost hopeless.&nbsp; While he had been up in the
+wood, he had asked himself how he would treat Marie in consequence of
+her disobedience to him; and he had at last succeeded in producing within
+his own breast a state of mind that was not perhaps very reasonable,
+but which was consonant with his character.&nbsp; He would let her know
+that he was angry with her, - very angry with her; that she had half
+broken his heart by her obstinacy; but after that she should be to him
+his own Marie again.&nbsp; He would not throw her off, because she disobeyed
+him.&nbsp; He could not throw her off, because he loved her, and knew
+of no way by which he could get rid of his love.&nbsp; But he would
+be very angry, and she should know of his anger.&nbsp; He had come home
+wearing a black cloud on his brow, and intending to be black.&nbsp;
+But all that was changed in a moment, and his only thought now was how
+to give pleasure to this dear one.&nbsp; It is something to have a niece
+who brings such credit on the family!<br>
+<br>
+Marie as she listened to his praise and his ecstasies, knowing by a
+sure instinct every turn of his thoughts, tried to take joy to herself
+in that she had given joy to him.&nbsp; Though he was her uncle, and
+had in fact been her master, he was actually the one real friend whom
+she had made for herself in her life.&nbsp; There had been a month or
+two of something more than friendship with George Voss; but she was
+too wise to look much at that now.&nbsp; Michel Voss was the one being
+in the world whom she knew best, of whom she thought most, whose thoughts
+and wishes she had most closely studied, whose interests were ever present
+to her mind.&nbsp; Perhaps it may be said of every human heart in a
+sound condition that it must be specially true to some other one human
+heart; but it may certainly be so said of every female heart.&nbsp;
+The object may be changed from time to time, - may be changed very suddenly,
+as when a girl&rsquo;s devotion is transferred with the consent of all
+her friends from her mother to her lover; or very slowly, as when a
+mother&rsquo;s is transferred from her husband to some favourite child;
+but, unless self-worship be predominant, there is always one friend
+to whom the woman&rsquo;s breast is true, - for whom it is the woman&rsquo;s
+joy to offer herself in sacrifice.&nbsp; Now with Marie Bromar that
+one being had been her uncle.&nbsp; She prospered, if he prospered.&nbsp;
+His comfort was her comfort.&nbsp; Even when his palate was pleased,
+there was some gratification akin to animal enjoyment on her part.&nbsp;
+It was ease to her, that he should be at his ease in his arm-chair.&nbsp;
+It was mirth to her, that he should laugh.&nbsp; When he was contented
+she was satisfied.&nbsp; When he was ruffled she was never smooth.&nbsp;
+Her sympathy with him was perfect; and now that he was radiant with
+triumph, though his triumph came from his victory over herself, she
+could not deny him the pleasure of triumphing with him.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Dear uncle,&rsquo; she said, still caressing him, &lsquo;I am
+so glad that you are pleased.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Of course it will be a poor house without you, Marie.&nbsp; As
+for me, it will be just as though I had lost my right leg and my right
+arm.&nbsp; But what!&nbsp; A man is not always to be thinking of himself.&nbsp;
+To see you treated by all the world as you ought to be treated, - as
+I should choose that my own daughter should be treated, - that is what
+I have desired.&nbsp; Sometimes when I&rsquo;ve thought of it all when
+I&rsquo;ve been alone, I have been mad with myself for letting it go
+on as it has done.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It has gone on very nicely, I think, Uncle Michel.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+She knew how worse than useless it would be now to try and make him
+understand that it would be better for them both that she should remain
+with him.&nbsp; She knew, to the moving of a feather, what she could
+do with him and what she could not.&nbsp; Her immediate wish was to
+enable him to draw all possible pleasure from his triumph of the day,
+and therefore she would say no word to signify that his glory was founded
+on her sacrifice.<br>
+<br>
+Then again came up the question of her position at supper, but there
+was no difficulty in the arrangement made between them.&nbsp; The one
+gala evening of grand dresses - the evening which had been intended
+to be a gala, but which had turned out to be almost funereal - was over.&nbsp;
+Even Michel Voss himself did not think it necessary that Marie should
+come in to supper with her silk dress two nights running; and he himself
+had found that that changing of his coat had impaired his comfort.&nbsp;
+He could eat his dinner and his supper in his best clothes on Sunday,
+and not feel the inconvenience; but on other occasions those unaccustomed
+garments were as heavy to him as a suit of armour.&nbsp; There was,
+therefore, nothing more said about clothes.&nbsp; Marie was to dispense
+her soup as usual, - expressing a confident assurance that if Peter
+were as yet to attempt this special branch of duty, the whole supper
+would collapse, - and then she was to take her place at the table, next
+to her uncle.&nbsp; Everybody in the house, everybody in Granpere, knew
+that the marriage had been arranged, and the old lady who had been so
+dreadfully snubbed by Marie, had forgiven the offence, acknowledging
+that Marie&rsquo;s position on that evening had been one of difficulty.<br>
+<br>
+But these arrangements had reference only to two days.&nbsp; After two
+days, Adrian was to return to Basle, and to be seen no more at Granpere
+till he came to claim his bride.&nbsp; In regard to the choice of the
+day, Michel declared roundly that no constraint should be put upon Marie.&nbsp;
+She should have her full privileges, and no one should be allowed to
+interfere with her.&nbsp; On this point Marie had brought herself to
+be almost indifferent.&nbsp; A long engagement was a state of things
+which would have been quite incompatible with such a betrothal.&nbsp;
+Any delay that could have been effected would have been a delay, not
+of months, but of days, - or at most of a week or two.&nbsp; She had
+made up her mind that she would not be afraid of her wedding.&nbsp;
+She would teach herself to have no dread either of the man or of the
+thing.&nbsp; He was not a bad man, and marriage in itself was honourable.&nbsp;
+She formed ideas also of some future true friendship for her husband.&nbsp;
+She would endeavour to have a true solicitude for his interests, and
+would take care, at any rate, that nothing was squandered that came
+into her hands.&nbsp; Of what avail would it be to her that she should
+postpone for a few days the beginning of a friendship that was to last
+all her life?&nbsp; Such postponement could only be induced by a dread
+of the man, and she was firmly determined that she would not dread him.&nbsp;
+When they asked her, therefore, she smiled and said very little.&nbsp;
+What did her aunt think?<br>
+<br>
+Her aunt thought that the marriage should be settled for the earliest
+possible day, - though she never quite expressed her thoughts.&nbsp;
+Madame Voss, though she did not generally obtain much credit for clear
+seeing, had a clearer insight to the state of her niece&rsquo;s mind
+than had her husband.&nbsp; She still believed that Marie&rsquo;s heart
+was not with Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; But, attributing perhaps no very great
+importance to a young girl&rsquo;s heart, and fancying that she knew
+that in this instance the young girl&rsquo;s heart could not have its
+own way, she was quite in favour of the Urmand marriage.&nbsp; And if
+they were to be married, the sooner the better.&nbsp; Of that she had
+no doubt.&nbsp; &lsquo;It&rsquo;s best to have it over always as soon
+as possible,&rsquo; she said to her husband in private, nodding her
+head, and looking much wiser than usual.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I won&rsquo;t have Marie hurried,&rsquo; said Michel.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;We had better say some day next month, my dear,&rsquo; said Madame
+Voss, again nodding her head.&nbsp; Michel, struck by the peculiarity
+of her voice, looked into her face, and saw the unaccustomed wisdom.&nbsp;
+He made no answer, but after a while nodded his head also, and went
+out of the room a man convinced.&nbsp; There were matters between women,
+he thought, which men can never quite understand.&nbsp; It would be
+very bad if there should be any slip here between the cup and the lip;
+and, no doubt, his wife was right.<br>
+<br>
+It was Madame Voss at last who settled the day, - the 15th of October,
+just four weeks from the present time.&nbsp; This she did in concert
+with Adrian Urmand, who, however, was very docile in her hands.&nbsp;
+Urmand, after he had been accepted, soon managed to bring himself back
+to that state of mind in which he had before regarded the possession
+of Marie Bromar as very desirable.&nbsp; For some four-and-twenty hours,
+during which he had thought himself to be ill-used, and had meditated
+a retreat from Granpere, he had contrived to teach himself that he might
+possibly live without her; but as soon as he was accepted, and when
+the congratulations of the men and women of Granpere were showered down
+upon him in quick succession, - so that the fact that the thing was
+to be became assured to him, - he soon came to fancy again that he was
+a man as successful in love as he was in the world&rsquo;s good, and
+that this acquisition of Marie&rsquo;s hand was a treasure in which
+he could take delight.&nbsp; He undoubtedly would be ready by the day
+named, and would go home and prepare everything for Marie&rsquo;s arrival.<br>
+<br>
+They were very little together as lovers during those two days, but
+it was necessary that there should be an especial parting.&nbsp; &lsquo;She
+is up-stairs in the little sitting-room,&rsquo; Aunt Josey said; and
+up-stairs to the little sitting-room Adrian Urmand went.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am come to say good-bye,&rsquo; said Urmand.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Good-bye, Adrian,&rsquo; said Marie, putting both her hands in
+his, and offering her cheek to be kissed.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I shall come back with such joy for the 15th,&rsquo; said he.<br>
+<br>
+She smiled, and kissed his cheek, and still held his hand.&nbsp; &lsquo;Adrian,&rsquo;
+she said.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;My love?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;As I believe in the dear Jesus, I will do my best to be a good
+wife to you.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then he took her in his arms, and kissed her
+close, and went out of the room with tears streaming down his cheeks.&nbsp;
+He knew now that he was in truth a happy man, and that God had been
+good to him in this matter of his future wife.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER X.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;So your cousin Marie is to be married to Adrian Urmand, the young
+linen-merchant at Basle,&rsquo; said Madame Faragon one morning to George
+Voss.&nbsp; In this manner were the first assured tidings of the coming
+marriage conveyed to the rival lover.&nbsp; This occurred a day or two
+after the betrothal, when Adrian was back at Basle.&nbsp; No one at
+Granpere had thought of writing an express letter to George on the subject.&nbsp;
+George&rsquo;s father might have done so, had the writing of letters
+been a customary thing with him; but his correspondence was not numerous,
+and such letters as he did write were short, and always confined to
+matters concerning his trade.&nbsp; Madame Voss had, however, sent a
+special message to Madame Faragon, as soon as Adrian had gone, thinking
+that it would be well that in this way George should learn the truth.<br>
+<br>
+It had been fully arranged by this time that George Voss was to be the
+landlord of the hotel at Colmar on and from the first day of the following
+year.&nbsp; Madame Faragon was to be allowed to sit in the little room
+downstairs, to scold the servants, and to make the strangers from a
+distance believe that her authority was unimpaired.&nbsp; She was also
+to receive a moderate annual pension in money in addition to her board
+and lodging.&nbsp; For these considerations, and on condition that George
+Voss should expend a certain sum of money in renewing the faded glories
+of the house, he was to be the landlord in full enjoyment of all real
+power on the first of January following.&nbsp; Madame Faragon, when
+she had expressed her agreement to the arrangement, which was indeed
+almost in all respects one of her own creation, wept and wheezed and
+groaned bitterly.&nbsp; She declared that she would soon be dead, and
+so trouble him no more.&nbsp; Nevertheless, she especially stipulated
+that she should have a new arm-chair for her own use, and that the feather
+bed in her own chamber should be renewed.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;So your cousin Marie is to be married to Adrian Urmand, the young
+linen-merchant at Basle,&rsquo; said Madame Faragon.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Who says so?&rsquo; demanded George.&nbsp; He asked his question
+in a quiet voice; but, though the news had reached him thus suddenly,
+he had sufficient control over himself to prevent any plain expression
+of his feelings.&nbsp; The thing which had been told him had gone into
+his heart like a knife; but he did not intend that Madame Faragon should
+know that he had been wounded.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is quite true.&nbsp; There is no doubt about it.&nbsp; Stodel&rsquo;s
+man with the roulage brought me word direct from your step-mother.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+George immediately began to inquire within himself why Stodel&rsquo;s
+man with the roulage had not brought some word direct to him, and answered
+the question to himself not altogether incorrectly.&nbsp; &lsquo;O,
+yes,&rsquo; continued Madame Faragon, &lsquo;it is quite true - on the
+15th of October.&nbsp; I suppose you will be going over to the wedding.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+This she said in her usual whining tone of small complaint, signifying
+thereby how great would be the grievance to herself to be left alone
+at that special time.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I shall not go to the wedding,&rsquo; said George.&nbsp; &lsquo;They
+can be married, if they are to be married, without me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;They are to be married; you may be quite sure of that.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Madame Faragon&rsquo;s grievance now consisted in the amount of doubt
+which was being thrown on the tidings which had been sent direct to
+her.&nbsp; &lsquo;Of course you will choose to have a doubt, because
+it is I who tell you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I do not doubt it at all.&nbsp; I think it is very likely.&nbsp;
+I was well aware before that my father wished it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Of course he would wish it, George.&nbsp; How should he not wish
+it?&nbsp; Marie Bromar never had a franc of her own in her life, and
+it is not to be expected that he, with a family of young children at
+his heels, is to give her a <i>dot.</i>&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He will give her something.&nbsp; He will treat her as though
+she were a daughter.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then I think he ought not.&nbsp; But your father was always a
+romantic, headstrong man.&nbsp; At any rate, there she is, - bar-maid,
+as we may say, in the hotel, - much the same as our Floschen here; and,
+of course, such a marriage as this is a great thing; a very great thing,
+indeed.&nbsp; How should they not wish it?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, if she likes him - !&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Like him?&nbsp; Of course, she will like him.&nbsp; Why should
+she not like him?&nbsp; Young, and good-looking, with a fine business,
+doesn&rsquo;t owe a sou, I&rsquo;ll be bound, and with a houseful of
+furniture.&nbsp; Of course, she&rsquo;ll like him.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+suppose there is so much difficulty about that.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I daresay not,&rsquo; said George.&nbsp; &lsquo;I believe that
+women&rsquo;s likings go after that fashion, for the most part.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Madame Faragon, not understanding this general sarcasm against her sex,
+continued the expression of her opinion about the coming marriage.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t suppose anybody will think of blaming Marie Bromar
+for accepting the match when it was proposed to her.&nbsp; Of course,
+she would do as she was bidden, and could hardly be expected to say
+that the man was above her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He is not above her,&rsquo; said George in a hoarse voice.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Marie Bromar is nothing to you, George; nothing in blood; nothing
+beyond a most distant cousin.&nbsp; They do say that she has grown up
+good-looking.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; - she is a handsome girl.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;When I remember her as a child she was broad and dumpy, and they
+always come back at last to what they were as children.&nbsp; But of
+course M. Urmand only looks to what she is now.&nbsp; She makes her
+hay while the sun shines; but I hope the people won&rsquo;t say that
+your father has caught him at the Lion d&rsquo;Or, and taken him in.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;My father is not the man to care very much what anybody says
+about such things.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Perhaps not so much as he ought, George,&rsquo; said Madame Faragon,
+shaking her head.<br>
+<br>
+After that George Voss went about the house for some hours, doing his
+work, giving his orders, and going through the usual routine of his
+day&rsquo;s business.&nbsp; As he did so, no one guessed that his mind
+was disturbed.&nbsp; Madame Faragon had not the slightest suspicion
+that the matter of Marie&rsquo;s marriage was a cause of sorrow to him.&nbsp;
+She had felt the not unnatural envy of a woman&rsquo;s mind in such
+an affair, and could not help expressing it, although Marie Bromar was
+in some sort connected with herself.&nbsp; But she was sure that such
+an arrangement would be regarded as a family triumph by George, - unless,
+indeed, he should be inclined to quarrel with his father for over-generosity
+in that matter of the <i>dot.</i>&nbsp; &lsquo;It is lucky that you
+got your little bit of money before this affair was settled,&rsquo;
+said she.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It would not have made the difference of a copper sou,&rsquo;
+said George Voss, as he walked angrily out of the old woman&rsquo;s
+room.&nbsp; This was in the evening, after supper, and the greater part
+of the day had passed since he had first heard the news.&nbsp; Up to
+the present moment he had endeavoured to shake the matter off from him,
+declaring to himself that grief - or at least any outward show of grief
+- would be unmanly and unworthy of him.&nbsp; With a strong resolve
+he had fixed his mind upon the affairs of his house, and had allowed
+himself to meditate as little as might be possible.&nbsp; But the misery,
+the agony, had been then present with him during all those hours, -
+and had been made the sharper by his endeavours to keep it down and
+banish it from his thoughts.&nbsp; Now, as he went out from Madame Faragon&rsquo;s
+room, having finished all that it was his duty to do, he strolled into
+the town, and at once began to give way to his thoughts.&nbsp; Of course
+he must think about it.&nbsp; He acknowledged that it was useless for
+him to attempt to get rid of the matter and let it be as though there
+were no such persons in the world as Marie Bromar and Adrian Urmand.&nbsp;
+He must think about it; but he might so give play to his feelings that
+no one should see him in the moments of his wretchedness.&nbsp; He went
+out, therefore, among the dark walks in the town garden, and there,
+as he paced one alley after another in the gloom, he revelled in the
+agony which a passionate man feels when the woman whom he loves is to
+be given into the arms of another.<br>
+<br>
+As he thought of his own life during the past year or fifteen months,
+he could not but tell himself that his present suffering was due in
+some degree to his own fault.&nbsp; If he really loved this girl, and
+if it had been his intention to try and win her for himself, why had
+he taken his father at his word and gone away from Granpere?&nbsp; And
+why, having left Granpere, had he taken no trouble to let her know that
+he still loved her?&nbsp; As he asked himself these questions, he was
+hardly able himself to understand the pride which had driven him away
+from his old home, and which had kept him silent so long.&nbsp; She
+had promised him that she would be true to him.&nbsp; Then had come
+those few words from his father&rsquo;s mouth, words which he thought
+his father should never have spoken to him, and he had gone away, telling
+himself that he would come back and fetch her as soon as he could offer
+her a home independently of his father.&nbsp; If, after the promises
+she had made to him, she would not wait for him without farther words
+and farther vows, she would not be worth the having.&nbsp; In going,
+he had not precisely told himself that there should be no intercourse
+between them for twelve months; but the silence which he had maintained,
+and his continued absence, had been the consequence of the mood of his
+mind and the tenor of his purpose.&nbsp; The longer he had been away
+from Granpere without tidings from any one there, the less possible
+had it been that he should send tidings from himself to his old home.&nbsp;
+He had not expected messages.&nbsp; He had not expected any letter.&nbsp;
+But when nothing came, he told himself over and over again that he too
+would be silent, and would bide his time.&nbsp; Then Edmond Greisse
+had come to Colmar, and brought the first rumour of Adrian Urmand&rsquo;s
+proposal of marriage.<br>
+<br>
+The reader will perhaps remember that George, when he heard this first
+rumour, had at once made up his mind to go over to Granpere, and that
+he went.&nbsp; He went to Granpere partly believing, and partly disbelieving
+Edmond&rsquo;s story.&nbsp; If it were untrue, perhaps she might say
+a word to him that would comfort him and give him new hope.&nbsp; If
+it were true, she would have to tell him so; and then he would say a
+word to her that should tear her heart, if her heart was to be reached.&nbsp;
+But he would never let her know that she had torn his own to rags!&nbsp;
+That was the pride of his manliness; and yet he was so boyish as not
+to know that it should have been for him to make those overtures for
+a renewal of love, which he hoped that Marie would make to him.&nbsp;
+He had gone over to Granpere, and the reader will perhaps again remember
+what had passed then between him and Marie.&nbsp; Just as he was leaving
+her he had asked her whether she was to be married to this man.&nbsp;
+He had made no objection to such a marriage.&nbsp; He had spoken no
+word of the constancy of his own affection.&nbsp; In his heart there
+had been anger against her because she had spoken no such word to him,
+- as of course there was also in her heart against him, very bitter
+and very hot.&nbsp; If he wished her to be true to him, why did he not
+say so?&nbsp; If he had given her up, why did he come there at all?&nbsp;
+Why did he ask any questions about her marriage, if on his own behalf
+he had no statement to make, - no assurance to give?&nbsp; What was
+her marriage, or her refusal to be married, to him?&nbsp; Was she to
+tell him that, as he had deserted her, and as she could not busy herself
+to overcome her love, therefore she was minded to wear the willow for
+ever?&nbsp; &lsquo;If my uncle and aunt choose to dispose of me, I cannot
+help it,&rsquo; she had said.&nbsp; Then he had left her, and she had
+been sure that for him that early game of love was a game altogether
+played out.&nbsp; Now, as he walked along the dark paths of the town
+garden, something of the truth came upon him.&nbsp; He made no excuse
+for Marie Bromar.&nbsp; She had given him a vow, and should have been
+true to her vow, so he said to himself a dozen times.&nbsp; He had never
+been false.&nbsp; He had shown no sign of falseness.&nbsp; True of heart,
+he had remained away from her only till he might come and claim her,
+and bring her to a house that he could call his own.&nbsp; This also
+he told himself a dozen times.&nbsp; But, nevertheless, there was a
+very agony of remorse, a weight of repentance, in that he had not striven
+to make sure of his prize when he had been at Granpere before the marriage
+was settled.&nbsp; Had she loved him as she ought to have loved him,
+had she loved him as he loved her, there should have been no question
+possible to her of marriage with another man.&nbsp; But still he repented,
+in that he had lost that which he desired, and might perhaps have then
+obtained it for himself.<br>
+<br>
+But the strong feeling of his breast, the strongest next to his love,
+was a desire to be revenged.&nbsp; He cared little now for his father,
+little for that personal dignity which he had intended to return by
+his silence, little for pecuniary advantages and prudential motives,
+in comparison with his strong desire to punish Marie for her perfidy.&nbsp;
+He would go over to Granpere, and fall among them like a thunderbolt.&nbsp;
+Like a thunderbolt, at any rate, he would fall upon the head of Marie
+Bromar.&nbsp; The very words of her love-promises were still firm in
+his memory, and he would see if she also could be made to remember them.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I shall go over to Granpere the day after to-morrow,&rsquo; he
+said to Madame Faragon, as he caught her just before she retired for
+the night.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;To Granpere the day after to-morrow?&nbsp; And why?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well, I don&rsquo;t know that I can say exactly why.&nbsp; I
+shall not be at the marriage, but I should like to see them first.&nbsp;
+I shall go the day after to-morrow.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+And he went to Granpere on the day he fixed.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XI.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Probably one night only, but I won&rsquo;t make any promise,&rsquo;
+George had said to Madame Faragon when she asked him how long he intended
+to stay at Granpere.&nbsp; As he took one of the horses belonging to
+the inn and drove himself, it seemed to be certain that he would not
+stay long.&nbsp; He started all alone, early in the morning, and reached
+Granpere about twelve o&rsquo;clock.&nbsp; His mind was full of painful
+thoughts as he went, and as the little animal ran quickly down the mountain
+road into the valley in which Granpere lies, he almost wished that his
+feet were not so fleet.&nbsp; What was he to say when he got to Granpere,
+and to whom was he to say it?<br>
+<br>
+When he reached the angular court along two sides of which the house
+was built he did not at once enter the front door.&nbsp; None of the
+family were then about the place, and he could, therefore, go into the
+stable and ask a question or two of the man who came to meet him.&nbsp;
+His father, the man told him, had gone up early to the wood-cutting,
+and would not probably return till the afternoon.&nbsp; Madame Voss
+was no doubt inside, as was also Marie Bromar.&nbsp; Then the man commenced
+an elaborate account of the betrothals.&nbsp; There never had been at
+Granpere any marriage that had been half so important as would be this
+marriage; no lover coming thither had ever been blessed with so beautiful
+and discreet a maiden, and no maiden of Granpere had ever before had
+at her feet a lover at the same time so good-looking, so wealthy, so
+sagacious, and so good-tempered.&nbsp; The man declared that Adrian
+was the luckiest fellow in the world in finding such a wife, but his
+enthusiasm rose to the highest pitch when he spoke of Marie&rsquo;s
+luck in finding such a husband.&nbsp; There was no end to the good with
+which she would be endowed - &rsquo;linen,&rsquo; said the man, holding
+up his hands in admiration, &lsquo;that will last out all her grandchildren
+at least!&rsquo;&nbsp; George listened to it all, and smiled, and said
+a word or two - was it worth his while to come all the way to Granpere
+to throw his thunderbolt at a girl who had been captivated by promises
+of a chest full of house linen!<br>
+<br>
+George told the man that he would go up to the wood-cutting after his
+father; but before he was out of the court he changed his mind and slowly
+entered the house.&nbsp; Why should he go to his father?&nbsp; What
+had he to say to his father about the marriage that could not be better
+said down at the house?&nbsp; After all, he had but little ground of
+complaint against his father.&nbsp; It was Marie who had been untrue
+to him, and it was on Marie&rsquo;s head that his wrath must fall.&nbsp;
+No doubt his father would be angry with him when he should have thrown
+his thunderbolt.&nbsp; It could not, as he thought, be hurled effectually
+without his father&rsquo;s knowledge; but he need not tell his father
+the errand on which he had come.&nbsp; So he changed his mind, and went
+into the inn.<br>
+<br>
+He entered the house almost dreading to see her whom he was seeking.&nbsp;
+In what way should he first express his wrath?&nbsp; How should he show
+her the wreck which by her inconstancy she had made of his happiness?&nbsp;
+His first words must, if possible, be spoken to her alone; and yet alone
+he could hardly hope to find her.&nbsp; And he feared her.&nbsp; Though
+he was so resolved to speak his mind, yet he feared her.&nbsp; Though
+he intended to fill her with remorse, yet he dreaded the effect of her
+words upon himself.&nbsp; He knew how strong she could be, and how steadfast.&nbsp;
+Though his passion told him every hour, was telling him all day long,
+that she was as false as hell, yet there was something in him of judgment,
+something rather of instinct, which told him also that she was not bad,
+that she was a firm-hearted, high-spirited, great-minded girl, who would
+have reasons to give for the thing that she was doing.<br>
+<br>
+He went through into the kitchen before he met any one, and there he
+found Madame Voss with the cook and Peter.&nbsp; Immediate explanations
+had, of course, to be made as to his unexpected arrival; - questions
+asked, and suggestions offered - &rsquo;Came he in peace, or came he
+in war?&rsquo;&nbsp; Had he come because he had heard of the betrothals?&nbsp;
+He admitted that it was so.&nbsp; &lsquo;And you are glad of it?&rsquo;
+asked Madame Voss.&nbsp; &lsquo;You will congratulate her with all your
+heart?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I will congratulate her certainly,&rsquo; said George.&nbsp;
+Then the cook and Peter began with a copious flow of domestic eloquence
+to declare how great a marriage this was for the Lion d&rsquo;Or - how
+pleasing to the master, how creditable to the village, how satisfactory
+to the friends, how joyous to the bridegroom, how triumphant to the
+bride!&nbsp; &lsquo;No doubt she will have plenty to eat and drink,
+and fine clothes to wear, and an excellent house over her head,&rsquo;
+said George in his bitterness.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And she will be married to one of the most respectable young
+men in all Switzerland,&rsquo; said Madame Voss in a tone of much anger.&nbsp;
+It was already quite clear to Madame Voss, to the cook, and to Peter,
+that George had not come over from Colmar simply to express his joyous
+satisfaction at his cousin&rsquo;s good fortune.<br>
+<br>
+He soon walked through into the little sitting-room, and his step-mother
+followed him.&nbsp; &lsquo;George,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;you will
+displease your father very much if you say anything unkind about Marie.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I know very well,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;that my father cares
+more for Marie than he does for me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That is not so, George.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I do not blame him for it.&nbsp; She lives in the house with
+him, while I live elsewhere.&nbsp; It was natural that she should be
+more to him than I am, after he had sent me away.&nbsp; But he has no
+right to suppose that I can have the same feeling that he has about
+this marriage.&nbsp; I cannot think it the finest thing in the world
+for all of us that Marie Bromar should succeed in getting a rich young
+man for her husband, who, as far as I can see, never had two ideas in
+his head.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He is a most industrious young man, who thoroughly understands
+his business.&nbsp; I have heard people say that there is no one comes
+to Granpere who can buy better than he can.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Very likely not.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And at any rate, it is no disgrace to be well off.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is a disgrace to think more about that than anything else.&nbsp;
+But never mind.&nbsp; It is no use talking about it, words won&rsquo;t
+mend it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why then have you come here now?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Because I want to see my father.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then he remembered
+how false was this excuse; and remembered also how soon its falseness
+would appear.&nbsp; &lsquo;Besides, though I do not like this match,
+I wish to see Marie once again before her marriage.&nbsp; I shall never
+see her after it.&nbsp; That is the reason why I have come.&nbsp; I
+suppose you can give me a bed.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, yes, there are beds enough.&rsquo;&nbsp; After that there
+was some pause, and Madame Voss hardly knew how to treat her step-son.&nbsp;
+At last she asked him whether he would have dinner, and an order was
+given to Peter to prepare something for the young master in the small
+room.&nbsp; And George asked after the children, and in this way the
+dreaded subject was for some minutes laid on one side.<br>
+<br>
+In the mean time, information of George&rsquo;s arrival had been taken
+upstairs to Marie.&nbsp; She had often wondered what sign he would make
+when he should hear of her engagement.&nbsp; Would he send her a word
+of affection, or such customary present as would be usual between two
+persons so nearly connected?&nbsp; Would he come to her marriage?&nbsp;
+And what would be his own feelings?&nbsp; She too remembered well, with
+absolute accuracy, those warm, delicious, heavenly words of love which
+had passed between them.&nbsp; She could feel now the pressure of his
+hand and the warmth of his kiss, when she swore to him that she would
+be his for ever and ever.&nbsp; After that he had left her, and for
+a year had sent no token.&nbsp; Then he had come again, and had simply
+asked her whether she were engaged to another man; had asked with a
+cruel indication that he at least intended that the old childish words
+should be forgotten.&nbsp; Now he was in the house again, and she would
+have to hear his congratulations!<br>
+<br>
+She thought for some quarter of an hour what she had better do, and
+then she determined to go down to him at once.&nbsp; The sooner the
+first meeting was over the better.&nbsp; Were she to remain away from
+him till they should be brought together at the supper-table, there
+would almost be a necessity for her to explain her conduct.&nbsp; She
+would go down to him and treat him exactly as she might have done, had
+there never been any special love between them.&nbsp; She would do so
+as perfectly as her strength might enable her; and if she failed in
+aught, it would be better to fail before her aunt than in the presence
+of her uncle.&nbsp; When she had resolved, she waited yet another minute
+or two, and then she went down-stairs.<br>
+<br>
+As she entered her aunt&rsquo;s room George Voss was sitting before
+the stove, while Madame Voss was in her accustomed chair, and Peter
+was preparing the table for his young master&rsquo;s dinner.&nbsp; George
+arose from his seat at once, and then came a look of pain across his
+face.&nbsp; Marie saw it at once, and almost loved him the more because
+he suffered.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am so glad to see you, George,&rsquo; she
+said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am so glad that you have come.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+She had offered him her hand, and of course he had taken it.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes,&rsquo;
+he said, &lsquo;I thought it best just to run over.&nbsp; We shall be
+very busy at the hotel before long.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Does that mean to say that you are not to be here for my marriage?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+This she said with her sweetest smile, making all the effort in her
+power to give a gracious tone to her voice.&nbsp; It was better, she
+knew, to plunge at the subject at once.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No,&rsquo; said he.&nbsp; &lsquo;I shall not be here then.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Ah, - your father will miss you so much!&nbsp; But if it cannot
+be, it is very good of you to come now.&nbsp; There would have been
+something sad in going away from the old house without seeing you once
+more.&nbsp; And though Colmar and Basle are very near, it will not be
+the same as in the dear old home; - will it, George?&rsquo;&nbsp; There
+was a touch about her voice as she called him by his name, that nearly
+killed him.&nbsp; At that moment his hatred was strongest against Adrian.&nbsp;
+Why had such an upstart as that, a puny, miserable creature, come between
+him and the only thing that he had ever seen in the guise of a woman
+that could touch his heart?&nbsp; He turned round with his back to the
+table and his face to the stove, and said nothing.&nbsp; But he was
+able, when he no longer saw her, when her voice was not sounding in
+his ear, to swear that the thunderbolt should be hurled all the same.&nbsp;
+His journey to Granpere should not be made for nothing.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+must go now,&rsquo; she said presently.&nbsp; &lsquo;I shall see you
+at supper, shall I not, George, when Uncle will be with us?&nbsp; Uncle
+Michel will be so delighted to find you.&nbsp; And you will tell us
+of the new doings at the hotel.&nbsp; Good-bye for the present, George.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Then she was gone before he had spoken another word.<br>
+<br>
+He eat his dinner, and smoked a cigar about the yard, and then said
+that he would go out and meet his father.&nbsp; He did go out, but did
+not take the road by which he knew that his father was to be found.&nbsp;
+He strolled off to the ravine, and came back only when it was dark.&nbsp;
+The meeting between him and his father was kindly; but there was no
+special word spoken, and thus they all sat down to supper.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XII.<br>
+<br>
+It became necessary as George Voss sat at supper with his father and
+Madame Voss that he should fix the time of his return to Colmar, and
+he did so for the early morning of the next day but one.&nbsp; He had
+told Madame Faragon that he expected to stay at Granpere but one night.&nbsp;
+He felt, however, after his arrival that it might be difficult for him
+to get away on the following day, and therefore he told them that he
+would sleep two nights at the Lion d&rsquo;Or, and then start early,
+so as to reach the Colmar inn by mid-day.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I suppose you find the old lady rather fidgety, George?&rsquo;
+said Michel Voss in high good humour.<br>
+<br>
+George found it easier to talk about Madame Faragon and the hotel at
+Colmar than he did of things at Granpere, and therefore became communicative
+as to his own affairs.&nbsp; Michel too preferred the subject of the
+new doings at the house on the other side of the Vosges.&nbsp; His wife
+had given him a slight hint, doing her best, like a good wife and discreet
+manager, to prevent ill-humour and hard words.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He feels a little sore, you know.&nbsp; I was always sure there
+was something.&nbsp; But it was wise of him to come and see her, and
+it will go off in this way.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Michel swore that George had no right to be sore, and that if his son
+did not take pride in such a family arrangement as this, he should no
+longer be son of his.&nbsp; But he allowed himself to be counselled
+by his wife, and soon talked himself into a pleasant mood, discussing
+Madame Faragon, and the horses belonging to the H&ocirc;tel de la Poste,
+and Colmar affairs in general.&nbsp; There was a certain important ground
+for satisfaction between them.&nbsp; Everybody agreed that George Voss
+had shown himself to be a steady man of business in the affairs of the
+inn at Colmar.<br>
+<br>
+Marie Bromar in the mean while went on with her usual occupation round
+the room, but now and again came and stood at her uncle&rsquo;s elbow,
+joining in the conversation, and asking a question or two about Madame
+Faragon.&nbsp; There was, perhaps, something of the guile of the serpent
+joined to her dove-like softness.&nbsp; She asked questions and listened
+to answers - not that in her present state of mind she could bring herself
+to take a deep interest in the affairs of Madame Faragon&rsquo;s hotel,
+but because it suited her that there should be some subject of easy
+conversation between her and George.&nbsp; It was absolutely necessary
+now that George should be nothing more to her than a cousin and an acquaintance;
+but it was well that he should be that and not an enemy.&nbsp; It would
+be well too that he should know, that he should think that he knew,
+that she was disturbed by no remembrance of those words which had once
+passed between them.&nbsp; At last she trusted herself to a remark which
+perhaps she would not have made had the serpent&rsquo;s guile been more
+perfect of its kind.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Surely you must get a wife, George, as soon as the house is your
+own.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Of course he will get a wife,&rsquo; said the father.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I hope he will get a good one,&rsquo; said Madame Voss after
+a short pause - which, however, had been long enough to make her feel
+it necessary to say something.<br>
+<br>
+George said never a word, but lifted his glass and finished his wine.&nbsp;
+Marie at once perceived that the subject was one on which she must not
+venture to touch again.&nbsp; Indeed, she saw farther than that, and
+became aware that it would be inexpedient for her to fall into any special
+or minute conversation with her cousin during his short stay at Granpere.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You&rsquo;ll go up to the woods with me tomorrow - eh, George?&rsquo;
+said the father.&nbsp; The son of course assented.&nbsp; It was hardly
+possible that he should not assent.&nbsp; The whole day, moreover, would
+not be wanted for that purpose of throwing his thunderbolt; and if he
+could get it thrown, it would be well that he should be as far away
+from Marie as possible for the remainder of his visit.&nbsp; &lsquo;We&rsquo;ll
+start early, Marie, and have a bit of breakfast before we go.&nbsp;
+Will six be too early for you, George, with your town ways?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+George said that six would not be too early, and as he made the engagement
+for the morning he resolved that he would if possible throw his thunderbolt
+that night.&nbsp; &lsquo;Marie will get us a cup of coffee and a sausage.&nbsp;
+Marie is always up by that time.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Marie smiled, and promised that they should not be compelled to start
+upon their walk with empty stomachs from any fault of hers.&nbsp; If
+a hot breakfast at six o&rsquo;clock in the morning could put her cousin
+into a good humour, it certainly should not be wanting.<br>
+<br>
+In two hours after supper George was with his father.&nbsp; Michel was
+so full of happiness and so confidential that the son found it very
+difficult to keep silence about his own sorrow.&nbsp; Had it not been
+that with a half obedience to his wife&rsquo;s hints Michel said little
+about Adrian, there must have been an explosion.&nbsp; He endeavoured
+to confine himself to George&rsquo;s prospects, as to which he expressed
+himself thoroughly pleased.&nbsp; &lsquo;You see,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;I
+am so strong of my years, that if you wished for my shoes, there is
+no knowing how long you might be kept waiting.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It couldn&rsquo;t have been too long,&rsquo; said George.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Ah well, I don&rsquo;t believe you would have been impatient
+to put the old fellow under the sod.&nbsp; But I should have been impatient,
+I should have been unhappy.&nbsp; You might have had the woods, to be
+sure; but it&rsquo;s hardly enough of a business alone.&nbsp; Besides,
+a young man is always more his own master away from his father.&nbsp;
+I can understand that.&nbsp; The only thing is, George, - take a drive
+over, and see us sometimes.&rsquo;&nbsp; This was all very well, but
+it was not quite so well when he began to speak of Marie.&nbsp; &lsquo;It&rsquo;s
+a terrible loss her going, you know, George; I shall feel it sadly.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I can understand that,&rsquo; said George.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But of course I had my duty to do to the girl.&nbsp; I had to
+see that she should be well settled, and she will be well settled.&nbsp;
+There&rsquo;s a comfort in that; - isn&rsquo;t there, George?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+But George could not bring himself to reply to this with good-humoured
+zeal, and there came for a moment a cloud between the father and son.&nbsp;
+But Michel was wise and swallowed his wrath, and in a minute or two
+returned to Colmar and Madame Faragon.<br>
+<br>
+At about half-past nine George escaped from his father and returned
+to the house.&nbsp; They had been sitting in the balcony which runs
+round the billiard-room on the side of the court opposite to the front
+door.&nbsp; He returned to the house, and caught Marie in one of the
+passages up-stairs, as she was completing her work for the day.&nbsp;
+He caught her close to the door of his own room and asked her to come
+in, that he might speak a word to her.&nbsp; English readers will perhaps
+remember that among the Vosges mountains there is less of a sense of
+privacy attached to bedrooms than is the case with us here in England.&nbsp;
+Marie knew immediately then that her cousin had not come to Granpere
+for nothing, - had not come with the innocent intention of simply pleasing
+his father, - had not come to say an ordinary word of farewell to her
+before her marriage.&nbsp; There was to be something of a scene, though
+she could not tell of what nature the scene might be.&nbsp; She knew,
+however, that her own conduct had been right; and therefore, though
+she would have avoided the scene, had it been possible, she would not
+fear it.&nbsp; She went into his room; and when he closed the door,
+she smiled, and did not as yet tremble.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Marie,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I have come here on purpose to
+say a word or two to you.&rsquo;&nbsp; There was no smile on her face
+as he spoke now.&nbsp; The intention to be savage was written there,
+as plainly as any purpose was ever written on man&rsquo;s countenance.&nbsp;
+Marie read the writing without missing a letter.&nbsp; She was to be
+rebuked, and sternly rebuked; - rebuked by the man who had taken her
+heart, and then left her; - rebuked by the man who had crushed her hopes
+and made it absolutely necessary for her to give up all the sweet poetry
+of her life, to forget her dreams, to abandon every wished-for prettiness
+of existence, and confine herself to duties and to things material!&nbsp;
+He who had so sinned against her was about to rid himself of the burden
+of his sin by endeavouring to cast it upon her.&nbsp; So much she understood,
+but yet she did not understand all that was to come.&nbsp; She would
+hear the rebuke as quietly as she might.&nbsp; In the interest of others
+she would do so.&nbsp; But she would not fear him, - and she would say
+a quiet word in defence of her own sex if there should be need.&nbsp;
+Such was the purport of her mind as she stood opposite to him in his
+room.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I hope they will be kind words,&rsquo; she said.&nbsp; &lsquo;As
+we are to part so soon, there should be none unkind spoken.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I do not know much about kindness,&rsquo; he replied.&nbsp; Then
+he paused and tried to think how best the thunderbolt might be hurled.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;There is hardly room for kindness where there was once so much
+more than kindness; where there was so much more, - or the pretence
+of it.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then he waited again, as though he expected that
+she should speak.&nbsp; But she would not speak at all.&nbsp; If he
+had aught to say, let him say it.&nbsp; &lsquo;Perhaps, Marie, you have
+in truth forgotten all the promises you once made me?&rsquo;&nbsp; Though
+this was a direct question she would not answer it.&nbsp; Her words
+to him should be as few as possible, and the time for such words had
+not come as yet.&nbsp; &lsquo;It suits you no doubt to forget them now,
+but I cannot forget them.&nbsp; You have been false to me, and have
+broken my heart.&nbsp; You have been false to me, when my only joy on
+earth was in believing in your truth.&nbsp; Your vow was for ever and
+ever, and within one short year you are betrothed to another man!&nbsp;
+And why? - because they tell you that he is rich and has got a house
+full of furniture!&nbsp; You may prove to be a blessing to his house.&nbsp;
+Who can say?&nbsp; On mine, you and your memory will be a curse, - lasting
+all my lifetime!&rsquo;&nbsp; And so the thunderbolt had been hurled.<br>
+<br>
+And it fell as a thunderbolt.&nbsp; What she had expected had not been
+at all like to this.&nbsp; She had known that he would rebuke her; but,
+feeling strong in her own innocence and her own purity, knowing or thinking
+that she knew that the fault had all been his, not believing - having
+got rid of all belief - that he still loved her, she had fancied that
+his rebuke would be unjust, cruel, but bearable.&nbsp; Nay; she had
+thought that she could almost triumph over him with a short word of
+reply.&nbsp; She had expected from him reproach, but not love.&nbsp;
+There was reproach indeed, but it came with an expression of passion
+of which she had not known him to be capable.&nbsp; He stood before
+her telling her that she had broken his heart, and, as he told her so,
+his words were half choked by sobs.&nbsp; He reminded her of her promises,
+declaring that his own to her had ever remained in full force.&nbsp;
+And he told her that she, she to whom he had looked for all his joy,
+had become a curse to him and a blight upon his life.&nbsp; There were
+thoughts and feelings too beyond all these that crowded themselves upon
+her heart and upon her mind at the moment.&nbsp; It had been possible
+for her to accept the hand of Adrian Urmand because she had become assured
+that George Voss no longer regarded her as his promised bride.&nbsp;
+She would have stood firm against her uncle and her aunt, she would
+have stood against all the world, had it not seemed to her that the
+evidence of her cousin&rsquo;s indifference was complete.&nbsp; Had
+not that evidence been complete at all points, it would have been impossible
+to her to think of becoming the wife of another man.&nbsp; Now the evidence
+on that matter which had seemed to her to be so sufficient was all blown
+to the winds.<br>
+<br>
+It is true that had all her feelings been guided by reason only, she
+might have been as strong as ever.&nbsp; In truth she had not sinned
+against him.&nbsp; In truth she had not sinned at all.&nbsp; She had
+not done that which she herself had desired.&nbsp; She had not been
+anxious for wealth, or ease, or position; but had, after painful thought,
+endeavoured to shape her conduct by the wishes of others, and by her
+ideas of duty, as duty had been taught to her.&nbsp; O, how willingly
+would she have remained as servant to her uncle, and have allowed M.
+Urmand to carry the rich gift of his linen-chest to the feet of some
+other damsel, had she believed herself to be free to choose!&nbsp; Had
+there been no passion in her heart, she would now have known herself
+to be strong in duty, and would have been able to have answered and
+to have borne the rebuke of her old lover.&nbsp; But passion was there,
+hot within her, aiding every word as he spoke it, giving strength to
+his complaints, telling her of all that she had lost, telling her of
+all she had taken from him.&nbsp; She forgot to remember now that he
+had been silent for a year.&nbsp; She forgot now to think of the tone
+in which he had asked about her marriage when no such marriage was in
+her mind.&nbsp; But she remembered well the promise she had made, and
+the words of it.&nbsp; &lsquo;Your vow was for ever and ever.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+When she heard those words repeated from his lips, her heart too was
+broken.&nbsp; All idea of holding herself before him as one injured
+but ready to forgive was gone from her.&nbsp; If by falling at his feet
+and owning herself to be vile and mansworn she might get his pardon,
+she was ready now to lie there on the ground before him.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O George!&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;O George!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What is the use of that now?&rsquo; he replied, turning away
+from her.&nbsp; He had thrown his thunderbolt, and he had nothing more
+to say.&nbsp; He had seen that he had not thrown it quite in vain, and
+he would have been contented to be away and back at Colmar.&nbsp; What
+more was there to be said?<br>
+<br>
+She came to him very gently, very humbly, and just touched his arm with
+her hand.&nbsp; &lsquo;Do you mean, George, that you have continued
+to care for me - always?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Care for you?&nbsp; I know not what you call caring.&nbsp; Did
+I not swear to you that I would love you for ever and ever, and that
+you should be my own?&nbsp; Did I not leave this house and go away,
+- till I could earn for you one that should be fit for you, - because
+I loved you?&nbsp; Why should I have broken my word?&nbsp; I do not
+believe that you thought that it was broken.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;By my God, that knows me, I did!&rsquo;&nbsp; As she said this
+she burst into tears and fell on her knees at his feet.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Marie,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;Marie; - there is no use in this.&nbsp;
+Stand up.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Not till you tell me that you will forgive me.&nbsp; By the name
+of the good Jesus, who knows all our hearts, I thought that you had
+forgotten me.&nbsp; O George, if you could know all!&nbsp; If you could
+know how I have loved you; how I have sorrowed from day to day because
+I was forgotten!&nbsp; How I have struggled to bear it, telling myself
+that you were away, with all the world to interest you, and not like
+me, a poor girl in a village, with no thing to think of but my lover!&nbsp;
+How I have striven to do my duty by my uncle, and have obeyed him, because,
+- because, - because, there was nothing left.&nbsp; If you could know
+it all!&nbsp; If you could know it all!&rsquo;&nbsp; Then she clasped
+her arms round his legs, and hid her face upon his feet.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And whom do you love now?&rsquo; he asked.&nbsp; She continued
+to sob, but did not answer him a word.&nbsp; Then he stooped down and
+raised her to her feet, and she stood beside him, very near to him with
+her face averted.&nbsp; &lsquo;And whom do you love now?&rsquo; he asked
+again.&nbsp; &lsquo;Is it me, or is it Adrian Urmand?&rsquo;&nbsp; But
+she could not answer him, though she had said enough in her passionate
+sorrow to make any answer to such a question unnecessary, as far as
+knowledge on the subject might be required.&nbsp; It might suit his
+views that she should confess the truth in so many words, but for other
+purpose her answer had been full enough.&nbsp; &lsquo;This is very sad,&rsquo;
+he said, &lsquo;sad indeed; but I thought that you would have been firmer.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Do not chide me again, George.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No; - it is to no purpose.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You said that I was - a curse to you?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O Marie, I had hoped, - I had so hoped, that you would have been
+my blessing!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Say that I am not a curse to you, George!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+But he would make no answer to this appeal, no immediate answer; but
+stood silent and stern, while she stood still touching his arm, waiting
+in patience for some word at any rate of forgiveness.&nbsp; He was using
+all the powers of his mind to see if there might even yet be any way
+to escape this great shipwreck.&nbsp; She had not answered his question.&nbsp;
+She had not told him in so many words that her heart was still his,
+though she had promised her hand to the Basle merchant.&nbsp; But he
+could not doubt that it was so.&nbsp; As he stood there silent, with
+that dark look upon his brow which he had inherited from his father,
+and that angry fire in his eye, his heart was in truth once more becoming
+soft and tender towards her.&nbsp; He was beginning to understand how
+it had been with her.&nbsp; He had told her, just now, that he did not
+believe her, when she assured him that she had thought that she was
+forgotten.&nbsp; Now he did believe her.&nbsp; And there arose in his
+breast a feeling that it was due to her that he should explain this
+change in his mind.&nbsp; &lsquo;I suppose you did think it,&rsquo;
+he said suddenly.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Think what, George?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That I was a vain, empty, false-tongued fellow, whose word was
+worth no reliance.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I thought no evil of you, George, - except that you were changed
+to me.&nbsp; When you came, you said nothing to me.&nbsp; Do you not
+remember?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I came because I was told that you were to be married to this
+man.&nbsp; I asked you the question, and you would not deny it.&nbsp;
+Then I said to myself that I would wait and see.&rsquo;&nbsp; When he
+had spoken she had nothing farther to say to him.&nbsp; The charges
+which he made against her were all true.&nbsp; They seemed at least
+to be true to her then in her present mood, - in that mood in which
+all that she now desired was his forgiveness.&nbsp; The wish to defend
+herself, and to stand before him as one justified, had gone from her.&nbsp;
+She felt that having still possessed his love, having still been the
+owner of the one thing that she valued, she had ruined herself by her
+own doubts; and she could not forgive herself the fatal blunder.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;It is of no use to think of it any more,&rsquo; he said at last.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You have to become this man&rsquo;s wife now, and I suppose you
+must go through with it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I suppose I must,&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;unless - &rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Unless what?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nothing, George.&nbsp; Of course I will marry him.&nbsp; He has
+my word.&nbsp; And I have promised my uncle also.&nbsp; But, George,
+you will say that you forgive me?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; - I will forgive you.&rsquo;&nbsp; But still there was the
+same black cloud upon his face, - the same look of pain, - the same
+glance of anger in his eye.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O George, I am so unhappy!&nbsp; There can be no comfort for
+me now, unless you will say that you will be contented.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I cannot say that, Marie.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You will have your house, and your business, and so many things
+to interest you.&nbsp; And in time, - after a little time - &rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, Marie, after no time at all.&nbsp; You told me at supper
+to-night that I had better get a wife for myself.&nbsp; But I will get
+no wife.&nbsp; I could not bring myself to marry another girl, I could
+not take a woman home as my wife if I did not love her.&nbsp; If she
+were not the person of all persons most dear to me, I should loathe
+her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+He was speaking daggers to her, and he must have known how sharp were
+his words.&nbsp; He was speaking daggers to her, and she must have felt
+that he knew how he was wounding her.&nbsp; But yet she did not resent
+his usage, even by a motion of her lip.&nbsp; Could she have brought
+herself to do so, her agony would have been less sharp.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+suppose,&rsquo; she said at last, &lsquo;that a woman is weaker than
+a man.&nbsp; But you say that you will forgive me?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I have forgiven you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then very gently she put out her hand to him, and he took it and held
+it for a minute.&nbsp; She looked up at him as though for a moment she
+had thought that there might be something else, - that there might be
+some other token of true forgiveness, and then she withdrew her hand.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I had better go now,&rsquo; she said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Good-night;
+George.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Good-night, Marie.&rsquo;&nbsp; And then she was gone.<br>
+<br>
+As soon as he was alone he sat himself down on the bedside, and began
+to think of it.&nbsp; Everything was changed to him since he had called
+her into the room, determining that he would crush her with his thunderbolt.&nbsp;
+Let things go as they may with a man in an affair of love, let him be
+as far as possible from the attainment of his wishes, there will always
+be consolation to him if he knows that he is loved.&nbsp; To be preferred
+to all others, even though that preference may lead to no fruition,
+is in itself a thing enjoyable.&nbsp; He had believed that Marie had
+forgotten him, - that she had been captivated either by the effeminate
+prettiness of his rival, or by his wealth and standing in the world.&nbsp;
+He believed all this no more.&nbsp; He knew now how it was with her
+and with him, and, let his countenance say what it might to the contrary,
+he could bring himself to forgive her in his heart.&nbsp; She had not
+forgotten him!&nbsp; She had not ceased to love him!&nbsp; There was
+merit in that which went far with him in excuse of her perfidy.<br>
+<br>
+But what should he do now?&nbsp; She was not as yet married to Adrian
+Urmand.&nbsp; Might there not still be hope; hope for her sake as well
+as for his own?&nbsp; He perfectly understood that in his country -
+nay, for aught he knew to the contrary, in all countries - a formal
+betrothal was half a marriage.&nbsp; It was half the ceremony in the
+eyes of all those concerned; but yet, in regard to that indissoluble
+bond which would indeed have divided Marie from him beyond the reach
+of any hope to the contrary, such betrothal was of no effect whatever.&nbsp;
+This man whom she did not love was not yet Marie&rsquo;s husband; -
+need never become so if Marie could only be sufficiently firm in resisting
+the influence of all her friends.&nbsp; No priest could marry her without
+her own consent.&nbsp; He - George - he himself would have to face the
+enmity of all those with whom he was connected.&nbsp; He was sure that
+his father, having been a party to the betrothal, would never consent
+to a breach of his promise to Urmand.&nbsp; Madame Voss, Madame Faragon,
+the priest, and their Protestant pastor would all be against them.&nbsp;
+They would be as it were outcasts from their own family.&nbsp; But George
+Voss, sitting there on his bedside, thought that he could go through
+it all, if only he could induce Marie Bromar to bear the brunt of the
+world&rsquo;s displeasure with him.&nbsp; As he got into bed he determined
+that he would begin upon the matter to his father during the morning&rsquo;s
+walk.&nbsp; His father would be full of wrath; - but the wrath would
+have to be endured sooner or later.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XIII.<br>
+<br>
+On the next morning Michel Voss and his son met in the kitchen, and
+found Marie already there.&nbsp; &lsquo;Well, my girl,&rsquo; said Michel,
+as he patted Marie&rsquo;s shoulder, and kissed her forehead, &lsquo;you&rsquo;ve
+been up getting a rare breakfast for these fellows, I see.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Marie smiled, and made some good-humoured reply.&nbsp; No one could
+have told by her face that there was anything amiss with her.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;It&rsquo;s the last favour of the kind he&rsquo;ll ever have
+at your hands,&rsquo; continued Michel, &lsquo;and yet he doesn&rsquo;t
+seem to be half grateful.&rsquo;&nbsp; George stood with his back to
+the kitchen fire, and did not say a word.&nbsp; It was impossible for
+him even to appear to be pleasant when such things were being said.&nbsp;
+Marie was a better hypocrite, and, though she said little, was able
+to look as though she could sympathise with her uncle&rsquo;s pleasant
+mirth.&nbsp; The two men had soon eaten their breakfast and were gone,
+and then Marie was left alone with her thoughts.&nbsp; Would George
+say anything to his father of what had passed up-stairs on the previous
+evening?<br>
+<br>
+The two men started, and when they were alone together, and as long
+as Michel abstained from talking about Marie and her prospects, George
+was able to converse freely with his father.&nbsp; When they left the
+house the morning was just dawning, and the air was fresh and sharp.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;We shall soon have the frost here now,&rsquo; said Michel, &lsquo;and
+then there will be no more grass for the cattle.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I suppose they can have them out on the low lands till the end
+of November.&nbsp; They always used.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; they can have them out; but having them out and having food
+for them are different things.&nbsp; The people here have so much stock
+now, that directly the growth is checked by the frost, the land becomes
+almost bare.&nbsp; They forget the old saying - &ldquo;Half stocking,
+whole profits; whole stocking, half profits!&rdquo;&nbsp; And then,
+too, I think the winters are earlier here than they used to be.&nbsp;
+They&rsquo;ll have to go back to the Swiss plan, I fancy, and carry
+the food to the cattle in their houses.&nbsp; It may be old-fashioned,
+as they say; but I doubt whether the fodder does not go farther so.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Then as they began to ascend the mountain, he got on to the subject
+of his own business and George&rsquo;s prospects.&nbsp; &lsquo;The dues
+to the Commune are so heavy,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;that in fact there
+is little or nothing to be made out of the timber.&nbsp; It looks like
+a business, because many men are employed, and it&rsquo;s a kind of
+thing that spreads itself, and bears looking at.&nbsp; But it leaves
+nothing behind.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It&rsquo;s not quite so bad as that, I hope,&rsquo; said George.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Upon my word then it is not much better, my boy.&nbsp; When you&rsquo;ve
+charged yourself with interest on the money spent on the mills, there
+is not much to boast about.&nbsp; You&rsquo;re bound to replant every
+yard you strip, and yet the Commune expects as high a rent as when there
+was no planting to be done at all.&nbsp; They couldn&rsquo;t get it,
+only that men like myself have their money in the mills, and can&rsquo;t
+well get out of the trade.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think you&rsquo;d like to give it up, father.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well, no.&nbsp; It gives me exercise and something to do.&nbsp;
+The women manage most of it down at the house; but there must be a change
+when Marie has gone.&nbsp; I have hardly looked it in the face yet,
+but I know there must be a change.&nbsp; She has grown up among it till
+she has it all at her fingers&rsquo; ends.&nbsp; I tell you what, George,
+she is a girl in a hundred, - a girl in a hundred.&nbsp; She is going
+to marry a rich man, and so it don&rsquo;t much signify; but if she
+married a poor man, she would be as good as a fortune to him.&nbsp;
+She&rsquo;d make a fortune for any man.&nbsp; That&rsquo;s my belief.&nbsp;
+There is nothing she doesn&rsquo;t know, and nothing she doesn&rsquo;t
+understand.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Why did his father tell him all this?&nbsp; George thought of the day
+on which his father had, as he was accustomed to say to himself, turned
+him out of the house because he wanted to marry this girl who was &lsquo;as
+good as a fortune&rsquo; to any man.&nbsp; Had he, then, been imprudent
+in allowing himself to love such a girl?&nbsp; Could there be any good
+reason why his father should have wished that a &lsquo;fortune,&rsquo;
+in every way so desirable, should go out of the family?&nbsp; &lsquo;She&rsquo;ll
+have nothing to do of that sort if she goes to Basle,&rsquo; said George
+moodily.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That is more than you can say,&rsquo; replied his father.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;A woman married to a man of business can always find her share
+in it if she pleases.&nbsp; And with such a one as Adrian Urmand her
+side of the house will not be the least considerable.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I suppose he is little better than a fool,&rsquo; said George.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;A fool!&nbsp; He is not a fool at all.&nbsp; If you were to see
+him buying, you would not call him a fool.&nbsp; He is very far from
+a fool.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It may be so.&nbsp; I do not know much of him myself.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You should not be so prone to think men fools till you find them
+so; especially those who are to be so near to yourself.&nbsp; No; -
+he&rsquo;s not a fool by any means.&nbsp; But he will know that he has
+got a clever wife, and he will not be ashamed to make use of her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+George was unwilling to contradict his father at the present moment,
+as he had all but made up his mind to tell the whole story about himself
+and Marie before he returned to the house.&nbsp; He had not the slightest
+idea that by doing so he would be able to soften his father&rsquo;s
+heart.&nbsp; He was sure, on the contrary, that were he to do so, he
+and his father would go back to the hotel as enemies.&nbsp; But he was
+quite resolved that the story should be told sooner or later, - should
+be told before the day fixed for the wedding.&nbsp; If it was to be
+told by himself, what occasion could be so fitting as the present?&nbsp;
+But, if it were to be done on this morning, it would be unwise to harass
+his father by any small previous contradictions.<br>
+<br>
+They were now up among the scattered prostrate logs, and had again taken
+up the question of the business of wood-cutting.&nbsp; &lsquo;No, George;
+it would never have done for you; not as a mainstay.&nbsp; I thought
+of giving it up to you once, but I knew that it would make a poor man
+of you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I wish you had,&rsquo; said George, who was unable to repress
+the feeling of his heart.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why do you say that?&nbsp; What a fool you must be if you think
+it!&nbsp; There is nothing you may not do where you are, and you have
+got it all into your own hands, with little or no outlay.&nbsp; The
+rent is nothing; and the business is there ready made for you.&nbsp;
+In your position, if you find the hotel is not enough, there is nothing
+you cannot take up.&rsquo;&nbsp; They had now seated themselves on the
+trunk of a pine tree; and Michel Voss having drawn a pipe from his pocket
+and filled it, was lighting it as he sat upon the wood.&nbsp; &lsquo;No,
+my boy,&rsquo; he continued, &lsquo;you&rsquo;ll have a better life
+of it than your father, I don&rsquo;t doubt.&nbsp; After all, the towns
+are better than the country.&nbsp; There is more to be seen and more
+to be learned.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t complain.&nbsp; The Lord has been
+very good to me.&nbsp; I&rsquo;ve had enough of everything, and have
+been able to keep my head up.&nbsp; But I feel a little sad when I look
+forward.&nbsp; You and Marie will both be gone; and your stepmother&rsquo;s
+friend, M. le Cur&eacute; Gondin, does not make much society for me.&nbsp;
+I sometimes think, when I am smoking a pipe up here all alone, that
+this is the best of it all; - it will be when Marie has gone.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+If his father thus thought of it, why did he send Marie away?&nbsp;
+If he thus thought of it, why had he sent his son away?&nbsp; Had it
+not already been within his power to keep both of them there together
+under his roof-tree?&nbsp; He had insisted on dividing them, and dismissing
+them from Granpere, one in one direction, and the other in another;
+- and then he complained of being alone!&nbsp; Surely his father was
+altogether unreasonable.&nbsp; &lsquo;And now one can&rsquo;t even get
+tobacco that is worth smoking,&rsquo; continued Michel, in a melancholy
+tone.&nbsp; &lsquo;There used to be good tobacco, but I don&rsquo;t
+know where it has all gone.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I can send you over a little prime tobacco from Colmar, father.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I wish you would, George.&nbsp; This is foul stuff.&nbsp; But
+I sometimes think I&rsquo;ll give it up.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s the use
+of it?&nbsp; A man sits and smokes and smokes, and nothing comes of
+it.&nbsp; It don&rsquo;t feed him, nor clothe him, and it leaves nothing
+behind, - except a stink.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You&rsquo;re a little down in the mouth, father, or you wouldn&rsquo;t
+talk of giving up smoking.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am down in the mouth, - terribly down in the mouth.&nbsp; Till
+it was all settled, I did not know how much I should feel Marie&rsquo;s
+going.&nbsp; Of course it had to be, but it makes an old man of me.&nbsp;
+There will be nothing left.&nbsp; Of course there&rsquo;s your stepmother,
+- as good a woman as ever lived, - and the children; but Marie was somehow
+the soul of us all.&nbsp; Give us another light, George.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m
+blessed if I can keep the fire in the pipe at all.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And this,&rsquo; thought George, &lsquo;is in truth the state
+of my father&rsquo;s mind!&nbsp; There are three of us concerned who
+are all equally dear to each other, my father, myself, and Marie Bromar.&nbsp;
+There is not one of them who doesn&rsquo;t feel that the presence of
+the others is necessary to his happiness.&nbsp; Here is my father declaring
+that the world will no longer have any savour for him because I am away
+in one place, and Marie is to be away in another.&nbsp; There is not
+the slightest real reason on earth why we should have been separated.&nbsp;
+Yet he, - he alone has done it; and we, - we are to break our hearts
+over it!&nbsp; Or rather he has not done it.&nbsp; He is about to do
+it.&nbsp; The sacrifice is not yet made, and yet it must be made, because
+my father is so unreasonable that no one will dare to point out to him
+where lies the way to his own happiness and to the happiness of those
+he loves!&rsquo;&nbsp; It was thus that George Voss thought of it as
+he listened to his father&rsquo;s wailings.<br>
+<br>
+But he himself, though he was hot in temper, was slow, or at least deliberate,
+in action.&nbsp; He did not even now speak out at once.&nbsp; When his
+father&rsquo;s pipe was finished he suggested that they should go on
+to a certain run for the fir-logs, which he himself - George Voss -
+had made - a steep grooved inclined plane by which the timber when cut
+in these parts could be sent down with a rush to the close neighbourhood
+of the saw-mill below.&nbsp; They went and inspected the slide, and
+discussed the question of putting new wood into the groove.&nbsp; Michel,
+with the melancholy tone that had prevailed with him all the morning,
+spoke of matters as though any money spent in mending would be thrown
+away.&nbsp; There are moments in the lives of most of us in which it
+seems to us that there will never be more cakes and ale.&nbsp; George,
+however, talked of the children, and reminded his father that in matters
+of business nothing is so ruinous as ruin.&nbsp; &lsquo;If you&rsquo;ve
+got to get your money out of a thing, it should always be in working
+order,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; Michel acknowledged the truth of the rule,
+but again declared that there was no money to be got out of the thing.&nbsp;
+He yielded, however, and promised that the repairs should be made.&nbsp;
+Then they went down to the mill, which was going at that time.&nbsp;
+George, as he stood by and watched the man and boy adjusting the logs
+to the cradle, and listened to the apparently self-acting saw as it
+did its work, and observed the perfection of the simple machinery which
+he himself had adjusted, and smelt the sweet scent of the newly-made
+sawdust, and listened to the music of the little stream, when, between
+whiles, the rattle of the mill would cease for half a minute, - George,
+as he stood in silence, looking at all this, listening to the sounds,
+smelling the perfume, thinking how much sweeter it all was than the
+little room in which Madame Faragon sat at Colmar, and in which it was,
+at any rate for the present, his duty to submit his accounts to her,
+from time to time, - resolved that he would at once make an effort.&nbsp;
+He knew his father&rsquo;s temper well.&nbsp; Might it not be that though
+there should be a quarrel for a time, everything would come right at
+last?&nbsp; As for Adrian Urmand, George did not believe, - or told
+himself that he did not believe, - that such a cur as he would suffer
+much because his hopes of a bride were not fulfilled.<br>
+<br>
+They stayed for an hour at the saw-mill, and Michel, in spite of all
+that he had said about tobacco, smoked another pipe.&nbsp; While they
+were there, George, though his mind was full of other matter, continued
+to give his father practical advice about the business - how a new wheel
+should be supplied here, and a lately invented improvement introduced
+there.&nbsp; Each of them at the moment was care-laden with special
+thoughts of his own, but nevertheless, as men of business, they knew
+that the hour was precious and used it.&nbsp; To saunter into the woods
+and do nothing was not at all in accordance with Michel&rsquo;s usual
+mode of life; and though he hummed and hawed, and doubted and grumbled,
+he took a note of all his son said, and was quite of a mind to make
+use of his son&rsquo;s wit.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I shall be over at Epinal the day after tomorrow,&rsquo; he said
+as they left the mill, &lsquo;and I&rsquo;ll see if I can get the new
+crank there.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;They&rsquo;ll be sure to have it at Heinman&rsquo;s,&rsquo; said
+George, as they began to descend the hill.&nbsp; From the spot on which
+they had been standing the walk down to Granpere would take them more
+than an hour.&nbsp; It might well be that they might make it an affair
+of two or three hours, if they went up to other timber-cuttings on their
+route; but George was sure that as soon as he began to tell his story
+his father would make his way straight for home.&nbsp; He would be too
+much moved to think of his timber, and too angry to desire to remain
+a minute longer than he could help in company with his son.&nbsp; Looking
+at all the circumstances as carefully as he could, George thought that
+he had better begin at once.&nbsp; &lsquo;As you feel Marie&rsquo;s
+going so much,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;I wonder that you are so anxious
+to send her away.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That&rsquo;s a poor argument, George, and one that I should not
+have expected from you.&nbsp; Am I to keep her here all her life, doing
+no good for herself, simply because I like to have her here?&nbsp; It
+is in the course of things that she should be married, and it is my
+duty to see that she marries well.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That is quite true, father.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then why do you talk to me about sending her away?&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t
+send her away.&nbsp; Urmand comes and takes her away.&nbsp; I did the
+same when I was young.&nbsp; Now I&rsquo;m old, and I have to be left
+behind.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s the way of nature.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But she doesn&rsquo;t want to be taken away,&rsquo; said George,
+rushing at once at his subject.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What do you mean by that?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Just what I say, father.&nbsp; She consents to be taken away,
+but she does not wish it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know what you mean.&nbsp; Has she been talking
+to you?&nbsp; Has she been complaining?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I have been talking to her.&nbsp; I came over from Colmar when
+I heard of this marriage on purpose that I might talk to her.&nbsp;
+I had at any rate a right to do that.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Right to do what?&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t know that you have any
+right.&nbsp; If you have been trying to do mischief in my house, George,
+I will never forgive you - never.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I will tell you the whole truth, father; and then you shall say
+yourself whether I have been trying to do mischief, and shall say also
+whether you will forgive me.&nbsp; You will remember when you told me
+that I was not to think of Marie Bromar for myself.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I do remember.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well; I had thought of her.&nbsp; If you wanted to prevent that,
+you were too late.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You were boys and girls together; that is all.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Let me tell my story, father, and then you shall judge.&nbsp;
+Before you had spoken to me at all, Marie had given me her troth.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nonsense!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Let me at least tell my story.&nbsp; She had done so, and I had
+given her mine; and when you told me to go, I went, not quite knowing
+then what it might be best that we should do, but feeling very sure
+that she would at least be true to me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Truth to any such folly as that would be very wicked.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;At any rate, I did nothing.&nbsp; I remained there month after
+month; meaning to do something when this was settled, - meaning to do
+something when that was settled; and then there came a sort of rumour
+to me that Marie was to be Urmand&rsquo;s wife.&nbsp; I did not believe
+it, but I thought that I would come and see.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It was true.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No; - it was not true then.&nbsp; I came over, and was very angry
+because she was cold to me.&nbsp; She would not promise that there should
+be no such engagement; but there was none then.&nbsp; You see I will
+tell you everything as it occurred.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She is at any rate engaged to Adrian Urmand now, and for all
+our sakes you are bound not to interfere.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But yet I must tell my story.&nbsp; I went back to Colmar, and
+then, after a while, there came tidings, true tidings, that she was
+engaged to this man.&nbsp; I came over again yesterday, determined,
+- you may blame me if you will, father, but listen to me, - determined
+to throw her falsehood in her teeth.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then I will protect her from you,&rsquo; said Michel Voss, turning
+upon his son as though he meant to strike him with his staff.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Ah, father,&rsquo; said George, pausing and standing opposite
+to the innkeeper, &lsquo;but who is to protect her from you?&nbsp; If
+I had found that that which you are doing was making her happy, - I
+would have spoken my mind indeed; I would have shown her once, and once
+only, what she had done to me; how she had destroyed me, - and then
+I would have gone, and troubled none of you any more.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You had better go now, and bring us no more trouble.&nbsp; You
+are all trouble.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But her worst trouble will still cling to her.&nbsp; I have found
+that it is so.&nbsp; She has taken this man not because she loves him,
+but because you have bidden her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She has taken him, and she shall marry him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I cannot say that she has been right, father; but she deserves
+no such punishment as that.&nbsp; Would you make her a wretched woman
+for ever, because she has done wrong in striving to obey you?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She has not done wrong in striving to obey me.&nbsp; She has
+done right.&nbsp; I do not believe a word of this.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You can ask her yourself.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I will ask her nothing, - except that she shall not speak to
+you any farther about it.&nbsp; You have come here wilfully-minded to
+disturb us all.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Father, that is unjust.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I say it is true.&nbsp; She was contented and happy before you
+came.&nbsp; She loves the man, and is ready to marry him on the day
+fixed.&nbsp; Of course she will marry him.&nbsp; You would not have
+us go back from our word now?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Certainly I would.&nbsp; If he be a man, and she tells him that
+she repents, - if she tells him all the truth, of course he will give
+her back her troth.&nbsp; I would do so to any woman that only hinted
+that she wished it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No such hint shall be given.&nbsp; I will hear nothing of it.&nbsp;
+I shall not speak to Marie on the subject, - except to desire her to
+have no farther converse with you.&nbsp; Nor will I speak of it again
+to yourself; unless you wish me to bid you go from me altogether, you
+will not mention the matter again.&rsquo;&nbsp; So saying, Michel Voss
+strode on, and would not even turn his eyes in the direction of his
+son.&nbsp; He strode on, making his way down the hill at the fastest
+pace that he could achieve, every now and then raising his hat and wiping
+the perspiration from his brow.&nbsp; Though he had spoken of Marie&rsquo;s
+departure as a loss that would be very hard to bear, the very idea that
+anything should be allowed to interfere with the marriage which he had
+planned was unendurable.&nbsp; What; - after all that had been said
+and done, consent that there should be no marriage between his niece
+and the rich young merchant!&nbsp; Never.&nbsp; He did not stop for
+a moment to think how much of truth there might be in his son&rsquo;s
+statement.&nbsp; He would not even allow himself to remember that he
+had forced Adrian Urmand as a suitor upon his niece.&nbsp; He had had
+his qualms of conscience upon that matter, - and it was possible that
+they might return to him.&nbsp; But he would not stop now to look at
+that side of the question.&nbsp; The young people were betrothed.&nbsp;
+The marriage was a thing settled, and it should be celebrated.&nbsp;
+He had never broken his faith to any man, and he would not break it
+to Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; He strode on down the mountain, and there was
+not a word more said between him and his son till they reached the inn
+doors.&nbsp; &lsquo;You understand me,&rsquo; he said then.&nbsp; &lsquo;Not
+a word more to Marie.&rsquo;&nbsp; After that he went up at once to
+his wife&rsquo;s chamber, and desired that Marie might be sent to him
+there.&nbsp; During his rapid walk home he had made up his mind as to
+what he would do.&nbsp; He would not be severe to his niece.&nbsp; He
+would simply ask her one question.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;My dear,&rsquo; he said, striving to be calm, but telling her
+by his countenance as plainly as words could have done all that had
+passed between him and his son, - &rsquo;Marie, my dear, I take it for
+- granted - there is nothing to - to - to interrupt our plans.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;In what way, uncle?&rsquo; she asked, merely wanting to gain
+a moment for thought.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;In any way.&nbsp; In no way.&nbsp; Just say that there is nothing
+wrong, and that will be sufficient.&rsquo;&nbsp; She stood silent, not
+having a word to say to him.&nbsp; &lsquo;You know what I mean, Marie.&nbsp;
+You intend to marry Adrian Urmand?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I suppose so,&rsquo; said Marie in a low whisper.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Look here, Marie, - if there be any doubt about it, we will part,
+- and for ever.&nbsp; You shall never look upon my face again.&nbsp;
+My honour is pledged, - and yours.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then he hurried out
+of the room, down into the kitchen, and without staying there a moment
+went out into the yard, and walked through to the stables.&nbsp; His
+passion had been so strong and uncontrollable, that he had been unable
+to remain with his niece and exact a promise from her.<br>
+<br>
+George, when he saw his father go through to the stables, entered the
+house.&nbsp; He had already made up his mind that he would return at
+once to Colmar, without waiting to have more angry words.&nbsp; Such
+words would serve him not at all.&nbsp; But he must if possible see
+Marie, and he must also tell his stepmother that he was about to depart.&nbsp;
+He found them both together, and at once, very abruptly, declared that
+he was to start immediately.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You have quarrelled with your father, George,&rsquo; said Madame
+Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I hope not.&nbsp; I hope that he has not quarrelled with me.&nbsp;
+But it is better that I should go.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What is it, George?&nbsp; I hope it is nothing serious.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Madame Voss as she said this looked at Marie, but Marie had turned her
+face away.&nbsp; George also looked at her, but could not see her countenance.&nbsp;
+He did not dare to ask her to give him an interview alone; nor had he
+quite determined what he would say to her if they were together.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Marie,&rsquo; said Madame Voss, &lsquo;do you know what this
+is about?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I wish I had died,&rsquo; said Marie, &lsquo;before I had come
+into this house.&nbsp; I have made hatred and bitterness between those
+who should love each other better than all the world!&rsquo;&nbsp; Then
+Madame Voss was able to guess what had been the cause of the quarrel.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Marie,&rsquo; said George very slowly, &lsquo;if you will only
+ask your own heart what you ought to do, and be true to what it tells
+you, there is no reason even yet that you should be sorry that you came
+to Granpere.&nbsp; But if you marry a man whom you do not love, you
+will sin against him, and against me, and against yourself, and against
+God!&rsquo;&nbsp; Then he took up his hat and went out.<br>
+<br>
+In the courtyard he met his father.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Where are you going now, George?&rsquo; said his father.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;To Colmar.&nbsp; It is better that I should go at once.&nbsp;
+Good-bye, father;&rsquo; and he offered his hand to his parent.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Have you spoken to Marie?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;My mother will tell you what I have said.&nbsp; I have spoken
+nothing in private.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Have you said anything about her marriage?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes.&nbsp; I have told her that she could not honestly marry
+the man she did not love.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What right have you, sir,&rsquo; said Michel, nearly choked with
+wrath, &lsquo;to interfere in the affairs of my household?&nbsp; You
+had better go, and go at once.&nbsp; If you return again before they
+are married, I will tell the servants to put you off the place!&rsquo;&nbsp;
+George Voss made no answer, but having found his horse and his gig,
+drove himself off to Colmar.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XIV.<br>
+<br>
+George Voss, as he drove back to Colmar and thought of what had been
+done during the last twenty-four hours, did not find that he had much
+occasion for triumph.&nbsp; He had, indeed, the consolation of knowing
+that the girl loved him, and in that there was a certain amount of comfort.&nbsp;
+As he had ever been thinking about her since he had left Granpere, so
+also had she been thinking of him.&nbsp; His father had told him that
+they had been no more than children when they parted, and had ridiculed
+the idea that any affection formed so long back and at so early an age
+should have lasted.&nbsp; But it had lasted; and was now as strong in
+Marie&rsquo;s breast as it was in his own.&nbsp; He had learned this
+at any rate by his journey to Granpere, and there was something of consolation
+in the knowledge.&nbsp; But, nevertheless, he did not find that he could
+triumph.&nbsp; Marie had been weak enough to yield to his father once,
+and would yield to him, he thought, yet again.&nbsp; Women in this respect
+- as he told himself - were different from men.&nbsp; They were taught
+by the whole tenor of their lives to submit, - unless they could conquer
+by underhand unseen means, by little arts, by coaxing, and by tears.&nbsp;
+Marie, he did not doubt, had tried all these, and had failed.&nbsp;
+His father&rsquo;s purpose had been too strong for her, and she had
+yielded.&nbsp; Having submitted once, of course she would submit again.&nbsp;
+There was about his father a spirit of masterfulness, which he was sure
+Marie would not be able to withstand.&nbsp; And then there would be
+- strong against his interests, George thought - that feeling so natural
+to a woman, that as all the world had been told of her coming marriage,
+she would be bound to go through with it.&nbsp; The idea of it had become
+familiar to her.&nbsp; She had conquered the repugnance which she must
+at first have felt, and had made herself accustomed to regard this man
+as her future husband.&nbsp; And then there would be Madame Voss against
+him, and M. le Cur&eacute;, - both of whom would think it infinitely
+better for Marie&rsquo;s future welfare, that she should marry a Roman
+Catholic, as was Urmand, than a Protestant such as was he, George Voss.&nbsp;
+And then the money!&nbsp; Even if he could bring himself to believe
+that the money was nothing to Marie, it would be so much to all those
+by whom Marie would be surrounded, that it would be impossible that
+she should be preserved from its influence.<br>
+<br>
+It is not often that young people really know each other; but George
+certainly did not know Marie Bromar.&nbsp; In the first place, though
+he had learned from her the secret of her heart, he had not taught himself
+to understand how his own sullen silence had acted upon her.&nbsp; He
+knew now that she had continued to love him; but he did not know how
+natural it had been that she should have believed that he had forgotten
+her.&nbsp; He could not, therefore, understand how different must now
+be her feelings in reference to this marriage with Adrian, from what
+they had been when she had believed herself to be utterly deserted.&nbsp;
+And then he did not comprehend how thoroughly unselfish she had been;
+- how she had struggled to do her duty to others, let the cost be what
+it might to herself.&nbsp; She had plighted herself to Adrian Urmand,
+not because there had seemed to her to be any brightness in the prospect
+which such a future promised to her, but because she did verily believe
+that, circumstanced as she was, it would be better that she should submit
+herself to her friends.&nbsp; All this George Voss did not understand.&nbsp;
+He had thrown his thunderbolt, and had seen that it had been efficacious.&nbsp;
+Its efficacy had been such that his wrath had been turned into tenderness.&nbsp;
+He had been so changed in his purpose, that he had been induced to make
+an appeal to his father at the cost of his father&rsquo;s enmity.&nbsp;
+But that appeal had been in vain, and, as he thought of it all, he told
+himself that on the appointed day Marie Bromar would become the wife
+of Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; He knew well enough that a girl betrothed is
+a girl already half married.<br>
+<br>
+He was very wretched as he drove his horse along.&nbsp; Though there
+was a solace in the thought that the memory of him had still remained
+in Marie&rsquo;s heart, there was a feeling akin to despair in this
+also.&nbsp; His very tenderness towards her was more unendurable than
+would have been his wrath.&nbsp; The pity of it!&nbsp; The pity of it!&nbsp;
+It was that which made him sore of heart and faint of spirit.&nbsp;
+If he could have reproached her as cold, mercenary, unworthy, heartless,
+even though he had still loved her, he could have supported himself
+by his anger against her unworthiness.&nbsp; But as it was there was
+no such support for him.&nbsp; Though she had been in fault, her virtue
+towards him was greater than her fault.&nbsp; She still loved him.&nbsp;
+She still loved him, - though she could not be his wife.<br>
+<br>
+Then he thought of Adrian Urmand and of the man&rsquo;s success and
+wealth, and general prosperity in the world.&nbsp; What if he should
+go over to Basle and take Adrian Urmand by the throat and choke him?&nbsp;
+What if he should at least half choke the successful man, and make it
+well understood that the other half would come unless the successful
+man would consent to relinquish his bride?&nbsp; George, though he did
+not expect success for himself, was fully purposed that Urmand should
+not succeed without some interference from him, - by means of choking
+or otherwise.&nbsp; He would find some way of making himself disagreeable.&nbsp;
+If it were only by speaking his mind, he thought that he could speak
+it in such a way that the Basle merchant would not like it.&nbsp; He
+would tell Urmand in the first place that Marie was won not at all by
+affection, not in the least by any personal regard for her suitor, but
+altogether by a feeling of duty towards her uncle.&nbsp; And he would
+point out to this suitor how dastardly a thing it would be to take advantage
+of a girl so placed.&nbsp; He planned a speech or two as he drove along
+which he thought that even Urmand, thick-skinned as he believed him
+to be, would dislike to hear.&nbsp; &lsquo;You may have her, perhaps,&rsquo;
+he would say to him, &lsquo;as so much goods that you would buy, because
+she is, as a thing in her uncle&rsquo;s hands, to be bought.&nbsp; She
+believes it to be her duty, as being altogether dependent, to be disposed
+of as her uncle may choose.&nbsp; And she will go to you, as she would
+to any other man who might make the purchase.&nbsp; But as for loving
+you, you don&rsquo;t even believe that she loves you.&nbsp; She will
+keep your house for you; but she will never love you.&nbsp; She will
+keep your house for you, - unless, indeed, she should find you to be
+so intolerable to her, that she should be forced to leave you.&nbsp;
+It is in that way that you will have her, - if you are so low a thing
+as to be willing to take her so.&rsquo;&nbsp; He planned various speeches
+of such a nature - not intending to trust entirely to speeches, but
+to proceed to some attempt at choking afterwards if it should be necessary.&nbsp;
+Marie Bromar should not become Adrian Urmand&rsquo;s wife without some
+effort on his part.&nbsp; So resolving, he drove into the yard of the
+hotel at Colmar.<br>
+<br>
+As soon as he entered the house Madame Faragon began to ask him questions
+about the wedding.&nbsp; When was it to be?&nbsp; George thought for
+a moment, and then remembered that he had not even heard the day named.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why don&rsquo;t you answer me, George?&rsquo; said the old woman
+angrily.&nbsp; &lsquo;You must know when it&rsquo;s going to be.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know that it&rsquo;s going to be at all,&rsquo;
+said George.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Not going to be at all!&nbsp; Why not?&nbsp; There is not anything
+wrong, is there?&nbsp; Were they not betrothed?&nbsp; Why don&rsquo;t
+you tell me, George?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; they were betrothed.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And is he crying off?&nbsp; I should have thought Michel Voss
+was the man to strangle him if he did that.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And I am the man to strangle him if he don&rsquo;t,&rsquo; said
+George, walking out of the room.<br>
+<br>
+He knew that he had been silly and absurd, but he knew also that he
+was so moved as to have hardly any control over himself.&nbsp; In the
+few words that he had now said to Madame Faragon he had, as he felt,
+told the story of his own disappointment; and yet he had not in the
+least intended to take the old woman into his confidence.&nbsp; He had
+not meant to have said a word about the quarrel between himself and
+his father, and now he had told everything.<br>
+<br>
+When she saw him again in the evening, of course she asked him some
+farther questions.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;George,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;I am afraid things are not going
+pleasantly at Granpere.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Not altogether,&rsquo; he answered.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But I suppose the marriage will go on?&rsquo;&nbsp; To this he
+made no answer, but shook his head, showing how impatient he was at
+being thus questioned.&nbsp; &lsquo;You ought to tell me,&rsquo; said
+Madame Faragon plaintively, &lsquo;considering how interested I must
+be in all that concerns you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I have nothing to tell.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But is the marriage to be put off?&rsquo; again demanded Madame
+Faragon, with extreme anxiety.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Not that I know of, Madame Faragon: they will not ask me whether
+it is to be put off or not.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But have they quarrelled with M. Urmand?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No; nobody has quarrelled with M. Urmand.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Was he there, George?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What, with me!&nbsp; No; he was not there with me.&nbsp; I have
+never seen the man since I first left Granpere to come here.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+And then George Voss began to think what might have happened had Adrian
+Urmand been at the hotel while he was there himself.&nbsp; After all,
+what could he have said to Adrian Urmand? or what could he have done
+to him?<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He hasn&rsquo;t written, has he, to say that he is off his bargain?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Poor Madame Faragon was almost pathetic in her anxiety to learn what
+had really occurred at the Lion d&rsquo;Or.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Certainly not.&nbsp; He has not written at all.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then what is it, George?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I suppose it is this, - that Marie Bromar cares nothing for him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But so rich as he is!&nbsp; And they say, too, such a good-looking
+young man.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is wonderful, is it not?&nbsp; It is next to a miracle that
+there should be a girl deaf and blind to such charms.&nbsp; But, nevertheless,
+I believe it is so.&nbsp; They will probably make her marry him, whether
+she likes it or not.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But she is betrothed to him.&nbsp; Of course she will marry him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then there will be an end of it,&rsquo; said George.<br>
+<br>
+There was one other question which Madame Faragon longed to ask; but
+she was almost too much afraid of her young friend to put it into words.&nbsp;
+At last she plucked up courage, and did ask her question after an ambiguous
+way.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But I suppose it is nothing to you, George?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nothing at all.&nbsp; Nothing on earth,&rsquo; said he.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;How should it be anything to me?&rsquo;&nbsp; Then he hesitated
+for a while, pausing to think whether or not he would tell the truth
+to Madame Faragon.&nbsp; He knew that there was no one on earth, setting
+aside his father and Marie Bromar, to whom he was really so dear as
+he was to this old woman.&nbsp; She would probably do more for him,
+if it might possibly be in her power to do anything, than any other
+of his friends.&nbsp; And, moreover, he did not like the idea of being
+false to her, even on such a subject as this.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is only
+this to me,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;that she had promised to be my wife,
+before they had ever mentioned Urmand&rsquo;s name to her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, George!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And why should she not have promised?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But, George; - during all this time you have never mentioned
+it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;There are some things, Madame Faragon, which one doesn&rsquo;t
+mention.&nbsp; And I do not know why I should have mentioned it at all.&nbsp;
+But you understand all about it now.&nbsp; Of course she will marry
+the man.&nbsp; It is not likely that my father should fail to have his
+own way with a girl who is dependent on him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But he - M. Urmand; he would give her up if he knew it all, would
+he not?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+To this George made no instant answer; but the idea was there, in his
+mind - that the linen merchant might perhaps be induced to abandon his
+purpose, if he could be made to understand that Marie wished it.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;If he have any touch of manhood about him he would do so,&rsquo;
+said he.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And what will you do, George?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Do!&nbsp; I shall do nothing.&nbsp; What should I do?&nbsp; My
+father has turned me out of the house.&nbsp; That is the whole of it.&nbsp;
+I do not know that there is anything to be done.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then he
+went out, and there was nothing more said upon the question.&nbsp; For
+the next three or four days there was nothing said.&nbsp; As he went
+in and out Madame Faragon would look at him with anxious eyes, questioning
+herself how far such a feeling of love might in truth make this young
+man forlorn and wretched.&nbsp; As far as she could judge by his manner
+he was very forlorn and very wretched.&nbsp; He did his work indeed,
+and was busy about the place, as was his wont.&nbsp; But there was a
+look of pain in his face, which made her old heart grieve, and by degrees
+her good wishes for the object, which seemed to be so much to him, became
+eager and hot.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Is there nothing to be done?&rsquo; she asked at last, putting
+out her fat hand to take hold of his in sympathy.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;There is nothing to be done,&rsquo; said George, who, however,
+hated himself because he was doing nothing, and still thought occasionally
+of that plan of choking his rival.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If you were to go to Basle and see the man?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What could I say to him, if I did see him?&nbsp; After all, it
+is not him that I can blame.&nbsp; I have no just ground of quarrel
+with him.&nbsp; He has done nothing that is not fair.&nbsp; Why should
+he not love her if it suits him?&nbsp; Unless he were to fight me, indeed
+- &rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, George! let there be no fighting.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It would do no good, I fear.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;None, none, none,&rsquo; said she.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If I were to kill him, she could not be my wife then.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, no; certainly not.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And if I wounded him, it would make her like him perhaps.&nbsp;
+If he were to kill me, indeed, there might be some comfort in that.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+After this Madame Faragon made no farther suggestions that her young
+friend should go to Basle.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XV.<br>
+<br>
+During the remainder of the day on which George had left Granpere, the
+hours did not fly very pleasantly at the Lion d&rsquo;Or.&nbsp; Michel
+Voss had gone to his niece immediately upon his return from his walk,
+intending to obtain a renewed pledge from her that she would be true
+to her engagement.&nbsp; But he had been so full of passion, so beside
+himself with excitement, so disturbed by all that he had heard, that
+he had hardly waited with Marie long enough to obtain such pledge, or
+to learn from her that she refused to give it.&nbsp; He had only been
+able to tell her that if she hesitated about marrying Adrian she should
+never look upon his face again; and then without staying for a reply
+he had left her.&nbsp; He had been in such a tremor of passion that
+he had been unable to demand an answer.&nbsp; After that, when George
+was gone, he kept away from her during the remainder of the morning.&nbsp;
+Once or twice he said a few words to his wife, and she counselled him
+to take no farther outward notice of anything that George had said to
+him.&nbsp; &lsquo;It will all come right if you will only be a little
+calm with her,&rsquo; Madame Voss had said.&nbsp; He had tossed his
+head and declared that he was calm; - the calmest man in all Lorraine.&nbsp;
+Then he had come to his wife again, and she had again given him some
+good practical advice.&nbsp; &lsquo;Don&rsquo;t put it into her head
+that there is to be a doubt,&rsquo; said Madame Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I haven&rsquo;t put it into her head,&rsquo; he answered angrily.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, my dear, no; but do not allow her to suppose that anybody
+else can put it there either.&nbsp; Let the matter go on.&nbsp; She
+will see the things bought for her wedding, and when she remembers that
+she has allowed them to come into the house without remonstrating, she
+will be quite unable to object.&nbsp; Don&rsquo;t give her an opportunity
+of objecting.&rsquo;&nbsp; Michel Voss again shook his head, as though
+his wife were an unreasonable woman, and swore that it was not he who
+had given Marie such opportunity.&nbsp; But he made up his mind to do
+as his wife recommended.&nbsp; &lsquo;Speak softly to her, my dear,&rsquo;
+said Madame Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t I always speak softly?&rsquo; said he, turning sharply
+round upon his spouse.<br>
+<br>
+He made his attempt to speak softly when he met Marie about the house
+just before supper.&nbsp; He put his hand upon her shoulder, and smiled,
+and murmured some word of love.&nbsp; He was by no means crafty in what
+he did.&nbsp; Craft indeed was not the strong point of his character.&nbsp;
+She took his rough hand and kissed it, and looked up lovingly, beseechingly
+into his face.&nbsp; She knew that he was asking her to consent to the
+sacrifice, and he knew that she was imploring him to spare her.&nbsp;
+This was not what Madame Voss had meant by speaking softly.&nbsp; Could
+she have been allowed to dilate upon her own convictions, or had she
+been able adequately to express her own ideas, she would have begged
+that there might be no sentiment, no romance, no kissing of hands, no
+looking into each other&rsquo;s faces, - no half-murmured tones of love.&nbsp;
+Madame Voss believed strongly that the every-day work of the world was
+done better without any of these glancings and glimmerings of moonshine.&nbsp;
+But then her husband was, by nature, of a fervid temperament, given
+to the influence of unexpressed poetic emotions; - and thus subject,
+in spite of the strength of his will, to much weakness of purpose.&nbsp;
+Madame Voss perhaps condemned her husband in this matter the more because
+his romantic disposition never showed itself in his intercourse with
+her.&nbsp; He would kiss Marie&rsquo;s hand, and press Marie&rsquo;s
+wrist, and hold dialogues by the eye with Marie.&nbsp; But with his
+wife his speech was, - not exactly yea, yea, and nay, nay, - but yes,
+yes, and no, no.&nbsp; It was not unnatural therefore that she should
+specially dislike this weakness of his which came from his emotional
+temperament.&nbsp; &lsquo;I would just let things go, as though there
+were nothing special at all,&rsquo; she said again to him, before supper,
+in a whisper.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And so I do.&nbsp; What would you have me say?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t mind petting her, but just be as you would be any
+other day.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am as I would be any other day,&rsquo; he replied.&nbsp; However,
+he knew that his wife was right, and was in a certain way aware that
+if he could only change himself and be another sort of man, he might
+manage the matter better.&nbsp; He could be fiercely angry, or caressingly
+affectionate.&nbsp; But he was unable to adopt that safe and golden
+mean, which his wife recommended.&nbsp; He could not keep himself from
+interchanging a piteous glance or two with Marie at supper, and put
+a great deal too much unction into his caress to please Madame Voss,
+when Marie came to kiss him before she went to bed.<br>
+<br>
+In the mean time Marie was quite aware that it was incumbent on her
+to determine what she would do.&nbsp; It may be as well to declare at
+once that she had determined - had determined fully, before her uncle
+and George had started for their walk up to the wood-cutting.&nbsp;
+When she was giving them their breakfast that morning her mind was fully
+made up.&nbsp; She had had the night to lie awake upon it, to think
+it over, and to realise all that George had told her.&nbsp; It had come
+to her as quite a new thing that the man whom she worshipped, worshipped
+her too.&nbsp; While she believed that nobody else loved her; - when
+she could tell herself that her fate was nothing to anybody; - as long
+as it had seemed to her that the world for her must be cold, and hard,
+and material; - so long could she reconcile to herself, after some painful,
+dubious fashion, the idea of being the wife either of Adrian Urmand,
+or of any other man.&nbsp; Some kind of servitude was needful, and if
+her uncle was decided that she must be banished from his house, the
+kind of servitude which was proposed to her at Basle would do as well
+as another.&nbsp; But when she had learned the truth, - a truth so unexpected,
+- then such servitude became impossible to her.&nbsp; On that morning,
+when she came down to give the men their breakfast, she had quite determined
+that let the consequences be what they might she would never become
+the wife of Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; Madame Voss had told her husband that
+when Marie saw the things purchased for her wedding coming into the
+house, the very feeling that the goods had been bought would bind her
+to her engagement.&nbsp; Marie had thought of that also, and was aware
+that she must lose no time in making her purpose known, so that articles
+which would be unnecessary might not be purchased.&nbsp; On that very
+morning, while the men had been up in the mountain, she had sat with
+her aunt hemming sheets; - intended as an addition to the already overflowing
+stock possessed by M. Urmand.&nbsp; It was with difficulty that she
+had brought herself to do that, - telling herself, however, that as
+the linen was there, it must be hemmed; when there had come a question
+of marking the sheets, she had evaded the task, - not without raising
+suspicion in the bosom of Madame Voss.<br>
+<br>
+But it was, as she knew, absolutely necessary that her uncle should
+be informed of her purpose.&nbsp; When he had come to her after the
+walk, and demanded of her whether she still intended to marry Adrian
+Urmand, she had answered him falsely.&nbsp; &lsquo;I suppose so,&rsquo;
+she had said.&nbsp; The question - such a question as it was - had been
+put to her too abruptly to admit of a true answer on the spur of the
+moment.&nbsp; But the falsehood almost stuck in her throat and was a
+misery to her till she could set it right by a clear declaration of
+the truth.&nbsp; She had yet to determine what she would do; - how she
+would tell this truth; in what way she would insure to herself the power
+of carrying out her purpose.&nbsp; Her mind, the reader must remember,
+was somewhat dark in the matter.&nbsp; She was betrothed to the man,
+and she had always heard that a betrothal was half a marriage.&nbsp;
+And yet she knew of instances in which marriages had been broken off
+after betrothal quite as ceremonious as her own - had been broken off
+without scandal or special censure from the Church.&nbsp; Her aunt,
+indeed, and M. le Cur&eacute; had, ever since the plighting of her troth
+to M. Urmand, spoken of the matter in her presence, as though the wedding
+were a thing already nearly done; - not suggesting by the tenor of their
+speech that any one could wish in any case to make a change, but pointing
+out incidentally that any change was now out of the question.&nbsp;
+But Marie had been sharp enough to understand perfectly the gist of
+her aunt&rsquo;s manoeuvres and of the priest&rsquo;s incidental information.&nbsp;
+The thing could be done, she know; and she feared no one in the doing
+of it, - except her uncle.&nbsp; But she did fear that if she simply
+told him that it must be done, he would have such a power over her that
+she would not succeed.&nbsp; In what way could she do it first, and
+then tell him afterwards?<br>
+<br>
+At last she determined that she would write a letter to M. Urmand, and
+show a copy of the letter to her uncle when the post should have taken
+it so far out of Granpere on its way to Basle, as to make it impossible
+that her uncle should recall it.&nbsp; Much of the day after George&rsquo;s
+departure, and much of the night, was spent in the preparation of this
+letter.&nbsp; Marie Bromar was not so well practised in the writing
+of letters as will be the majority of the young ladies who may, perhaps,
+read her history.&nbsp; It was a difficult thing for her to begin the
+letter, and a difficult thing for her to bring it to its end.&nbsp;
+But the letter was written and sent.&nbsp; The post left Granpere at
+about eight in the morning, taking all letters by way of Remiremont;
+and on the day following George&rsquo;s departure, the post took Marie
+Bromar&rsquo;s letter to M. Urmand.<br>
+<br>
+When it was gone, her state of mind was very painful.&nbsp; Then it
+was necessary that she should show the copy to her uncle.&nbsp; She
+had posted the letter between six and seven with her own hands, and
+had then come trembling back to the inn, fearful that her uncle should
+discover what she had done before her letter should be beyond his reach.&nbsp;
+When she saw the mail conveyance go by on its route to Remiremont, then
+she knew that she must begin to prepare for her uncle&rsquo;s wrath.&nbsp;
+She thought that she had heard that the letters were detained some time
+at Remiremont before they went on to Epinal in one direction, and to
+Mulhouse in the other.&nbsp; She looked at the railway time-table which
+was hung up in one of the passages of the inn, and saw the hour of the
+departure of the diligence from Remiremont to catch the train at Mulhouse
+for Basle.&nbsp; When that hour was passed, the conveyance of her letter
+was insured, and then she must show the copy to her uncle.&nbsp; He
+came into the house about twelve, and eat his dinner with his wife in
+the little chamber.&nbsp; Marie, who was in and out of the room during
+the time, would not sit down with them.&nbsp; When pressed to do so
+by her uncle, she declared that she had eaten lately and was not hungry.&nbsp;
+It was seldom that she would sit down to dinner, and this therefore
+gave rise to no special remark.&nbsp; As soon as his meal was over,
+Michel Voss got up to go out about his business, as was usual with him.&nbsp;
+Then Marie followed him into the passage.&nbsp; &lsquo;Uncle Michel,&rsquo;
+she said, &lsquo;I want to speak to you for a moment; will you come
+with me?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What is it about, Marie?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If you will come, I will show you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Show me!&nbsp; What will you show me?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It&rsquo;s a letter, Uncle Michel.&nbsp; Come up-stairs and you
+shall see it.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then he followed her up-stairs, and in the
+long public room, which was at that hour deserted, she took out of her
+pocket the copy of her letter to Adrian Urmand, and put it into her
+uncle&rsquo;s hands.&nbsp; &lsquo;It is a letter, Uncle Michel, which
+I have written to M. Urmand.&nbsp; It went this morning, and you must
+see it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;A letter to Urmand,&rsquo; he said, as he took the paper suspiciously
+into his hands.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes, Uncle Michel.&nbsp; I was obliged to write it.&nbsp; It
+is the truth, and I was obliged to let him know it.&nbsp; I am afraid
+you will be angry with me, and - turn me away; but I cannot help it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+The letter was as follows:<br>
+<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<i>&lsquo;The
+Hotel Lion d&rsquo;Or, Granpere,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;October
+1, 186-.<br>
+<br>
+</i>&lsquo;M. URMAND,<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I take up my pen in great sorrow and remorse to write you a letter,
+and to prevent you from coming over here for me, as you intended, on
+this day fortnight.&nbsp; I have promised to be your wife, but it cannot
+be.&nbsp; I know that I have behaved very badly, but it would be worse
+if I were to go on and deceive you.&nbsp; Before I knew you I had come
+to be fond of another man; and I find now, though I have struggled hard
+to do what my uncle wishes, that I could not promise to love you and
+be your wife.&nbsp; I have not told Uncle Michel yet, but I shall as
+soon as this letter is gone.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am very, very sorry for the trouble I have given you.&nbsp;
+I did not mean to be bad.&nbsp; I hope that you will forget me, and
+try to forgive me.&nbsp; No one knows better than I do how bad I have
+been.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Your most humble servant,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;With the greatest
+respect,<br>
+&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&lsquo;MARIE
+BROMAR.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+The letter had taken her long to write, and it took her uncle long to
+read, before he came to the end of it.&nbsp; He did not get through
+a line without sundry interruptions, which all arose from his determination
+to contradict at once every assertion which she made.&nbsp; &lsquo;You
+cannot prevent his coming,&rsquo; he said, &lsquo;and it shall not be
+prevented.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Of course, you have promised to be his
+wife, and it must be.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Nonsense about deceiving him.&nbsp;
+He is not deceived at all.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Trash - you are not fond
+of another man.&nbsp; It is all nonsense.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You must
+do what your uncle wishes.&nbsp; You must, now! you must!&nbsp; Of course,
+you will love him.&nbsp; Why can&rsquo;t you let all that come as it
+does with others?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Letter gone; - yes indeed, and
+now I must go after it.&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;Trouble! - yes!&nbsp; Why
+could you not tell me before you sent it?&nbsp; Have I not always been
+good to you?&rsquo;&nbsp; &lsquo;You have not been bad; not before.&nbsp;
+You have been very good.&nbsp; It is this that is bad.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Forget you indeed.&nbsp; Of course he won&rsquo;t.&nbsp; How
+should he?&nbsp; Are you not betrothed to him?&nbsp; He&rsquo;ll forgive
+you fast enough, when you just say that you did not know what you were
+about when you were writing it.&rsquo;&nbsp; Thus her uncle went on;
+and as the outburst of his wrath was, as it were, chopped into little
+bits by his having to continue the reading of the letter, the storm
+did not fall upon Marie&rsquo;s head so violently as she had expected.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;There&rsquo;s a pretty kettle of fish you&rsquo;ve made!&rsquo;
+said he as soon as he had finished reading the letter.&nbsp; &lsquo;Of
+course, it means nothing.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But it must mean something, Uncle Michel.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I say it means nothing.&nbsp; Now I&rsquo;ll tell you what I
+shall do, Marie.&nbsp; I shall start for Basle directly.&nbsp; I shall
+get there by twelve o&rsquo;clock to-night by going through Colmar,
+and I shall endeavour to intercept the letter before Urmand would receive
+it to-morrow.&rsquo;&nbsp; This was a cruel blow to Marie after all
+her precautions.&nbsp; &lsquo;If I cannot do that, I shall at any rate
+see him before he gets it.&nbsp; That is what I shall do; and you must
+let me tell him, Marie, that you repent having written the letter.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But I don&rsquo;t repent it, Uncle Michel; I don&rsquo;t, indeed.&nbsp;
+I can&rsquo;t repent it.&nbsp; How can I repent it when I really mean
+it?&nbsp; I shall never become his wife; - indeed I shall not.&nbsp;
+O, Uncle Michel, pray, pray, pray do not go to Basle!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+But Michel Voss resolved that he would go to Basle, and to Basle he
+went.&nbsp; The immediate weight, too, of Marie&rsquo;s misery was aggravated
+by the fact that in order to catch the train for Basle at Colmar, her
+uncle need not start quite immediately.&nbsp; There was an hour during
+which he could continue to exercise his eloquence upon his niece, and
+endeavour to induce her to authorise him to contradict her own letter.&nbsp;
+He appealed first to her affection, and then to her duty; and after
+that, having failed in these appeals, he poured forth the full vials
+of his wrath upon her head.&nbsp; She was ungrateful, obstinate, false,
+unwomanly, disobedient, irreligious, sacrilegious, and an idiot.&nbsp;
+In the fury of his anger, there was hardly any epithet of severe rebuke
+which he spared, and yet, as every cruel word left his mouth, he assured
+her that it should all be taken to mean nothing, if she would only now
+tell him that he might nullify the letter.&nbsp; Though she had deserved
+all these bad things which he had spoken of her, yet she should be regarded
+as having deserved none of them, should again be accepted as having
+in all points done her duty, if she would only, even now, be obedient.&nbsp;
+But she was not to be shaken.&nbsp; She had at last formed a resolution,
+and her uncle&rsquo;s words had no effect towards turning her from it.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Uncle Michel,&rsquo; she said at last, speaking with much seriousness
+of purpose, and a dignity of person that was by no means thrown away
+upon him, &lsquo;if I am what you say, I had better go away from your
+house.&nbsp; I know I have been bad.&nbsp; I was bad to say that I would
+marry M. Urmand.&nbsp; I will not defend myself.&nbsp; But nothing on
+earth shall make me marry him.&nbsp; You had better let me go away,
+and get a place as a servant among our friends at Epinal.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+But Michel Voss, though he was heaping abuse upon her with the hope
+that he might thus achieve his purpose, had not the remotest idea of
+severing the connection which bound him and her together.&nbsp; He wanted
+to do her good, not evil.&nbsp; She was exquisitely dear to him.&nbsp;
+If she would only let him have his way and provide for her welfare as
+he saw, in his wisdom, would be best, he would at once take her in his
+arms again and tell her that she was the apple of his eye.&nbsp; But
+she would not; and he went at last off on his road to Colmar and Basle,
+gnashing his teeth in anger.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XVI.<br>
+<br>
+Nothing was said to Marie about her sins on that afternoon after her
+uncle had started on his journey.&nbsp; Everything in the hotel was
+blank, and sad, and gloomy; but there was, at any rate, the negative
+comfort of silence, and Marie was allowed to go about the house and
+do her work without rebuke.&nbsp; But she observed that the Cur&eacute;
+- M. le Cur&eacute; Gondin - sat much with her aunt during the evening,
+and she did not doubt but that she herself and her iniquities made the
+subject of their discourse.<br>
+<br>
+M. le Cur&eacute; Gondin, as he was generally called at Granpere, -
+being always so spoken of, with his full name and title, by the large
+Protestant portion of the community, - was a man very much respected
+by all the neighbourhood.&nbsp; He was respected by the Protestants
+because he never interfered with them, never told them, either behind
+their backs or before their faces, that they would be damned as heretics,
+and never tried the hopeless task of converting them.&nbsp; In his intercourse
+with them he dropped the subject of religion altogether, - as a philologist
+or an entomologist will drop his grammar or his insects in his intercourse
+with those to whom grammar and insects are matters of indifference.&nbsp;
+And he was respected by the Catholics of both sorts, - by those who
+did not and by those who did adhere with strictness to the letter of
+their laws of religion.&nbsp; With the former he did his duty, perhaps
+without much enthusiasm.&nbsp; He preached to them, if they would come
+and listen to him.&nbsp; He christened them, confessed them, and absolved
+them from their sins, - of course, after due penitence.&nbsp; But he
+lived with them, too, in a friendly way, pronouncing no anathemas against
+them, because they were not as attentive to their religious exercises
+as they might have been.&nbsp; But with those who took a comfort in
+sacred things, who liked to go to early masses in cold weather, to be
+punctual at ceremonies, to say the rosary as surely as the evening came,
+who knew and performed all the intricacies of fasting as ordered by
+the bishop, down to the refinement of an egg more or less, in the whole
+Lent, or the absence of butter from the day&rsquo;s cookery, - with
+these he had all that enthusiasm which such people like to encounter
+in their priest.&nbsp; We may say, therefore, that he was a wise man,
+- and probably, on the whole, a good man; that he did good service in
+his parish, and helped his people along in their lives not inefficiently.&nbsp;
+He was a small man, with dark hair very closely cut, with a tonsure
+that was visible but not more than visible; with a black beard that
+was shaved every Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday evenings, but which was
+very black indeed on the Tuesday and Friday mornings.&nbsp; He always
+wore the black gown of his office, but would go about his parish with
+an ordinary soft slouch hat, - thus subjecting his appearance to an
+absence of ecclesiastical trimness which, perhaps, the most enthusiastic
+of his friends regretted.&nbsp; Madame Voss certainly would have wished
+that he would have had himself shaved at any rate every other day, and
+that he would have abstained from showing himself in the streets of
+Granpere without his clerical hat.&nbsp; But, though she was very intimate
+with her Cur&eacute;, and had conferred upon him much material kindness,
+she had never dared to express her opinion to him upon these matters.<br>
+<br>
+During much of that afternoon M. le Cur&eacute; sat with Madame Voss,
+but not a word was said to Marie about her disobedience either by him
+or by her.&nbsp; Nevertheless, Marie felt that her sins were being discussed,
+and that the lecture was coming.&nbsp; She herself had never quite liked
+M. le Cur&eacute; - not having any special reason for disliking him,
+but regarding him as a man who was perhaps a little deficient in spirit,
+and perhaps a trifle too mindful of his creature comforts.&nbsp; M.
+le Cur&eacute; took a great deal of snuff, and Marie did not like snuff
+taking.&nbsp; Her uncle smoked a great deal of tobacco, and that she
+thought very nice and proper in a man.&nbsp; Had her uncle taken the
+snuff and the priest smoked the tobacco, she would probably have equally
+approved of her uncle&rsquo;s practice and disapproved that of the priest;
+- because she loved the one and did not love the other.&nbsp; She had
+thought it probable that she might be sent for during the evening, and
+had, therefore, made for herself an immensity of household work, the
+performance of all which on that very evening the interests of the Lion
+d&rsquo;Or would imperatively demand.&nbsp; The work was all done, but
+no message from Aunt Josey summoned Marie into the little parlour.<br>
+<br>
+Nevertheless Marie had been quite right in her judgment.&nbsp; On the
+following morning, between eight and nine, M. le Cur&eacute; was again
+in the house, and had a cup of coffee taken to him in the little parlour.&nbsp;
+Marie, who felt angry at his return, would not take it herself, but
+sent it in by the hands of Peter Veque.&nbsp; Peter Veque returned in
+a few minutes with a message to Marie, saying that M. le Cur&eacute;
+wished to see her.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Tell him that I am very busy,&rsquo; said Marie.&nbsp; &lsquo;Say
+that uncle is away, and that there is a deal to do.&nbsp; Ask him if
+another day won&rsquo;t suit as well.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+She knew when she sent this message that another day would not suit
+as well.&nbsp; And she must have known also that her uncle&rsquo;s absence
+made no difference in her work.&nbsp; Peter came back with a request
+from Madame Voss that Marie would go to her at once.&nbsp; Marie pressed
+her lips together, clenched her fists, and walked down into the room
+without the delay of an instant.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Marie, my dear,&rsquo; said Madame Voss, &lsquo;M. le Cur&eacute;
+wishes to speak to you.&nbsp; I will leave you for a few minutes.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+There was nothing for it but to listen.&nbsp; Marie could not refuse
+to be lectured by the priest.&nbsp; But she told herself that having
+had the courage to resist her uncle, it certainly was out of the question
+that any one else should have the power to move her.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;My dear Marie,&rsquo; began the Cur&eacute;, &lsquo;your aunt
+has been telling me of this little difference between you and your affianced
+husband.&nbsp; Won&rsquo;t you sit down, Marie, because we shall be
+able so to talk more comfortably?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t want to talk about it at all,&rsquo; said Marie.&nbsp;
+But she sat down as she was bidden.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But, my dear, it is needful that your friends should talk to
+you.&nbsp; I am sure that you have too much sense to think that a young
+woman like yourself should refuse to hear her friends.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Marie had it almost on her tongue to tell the priest that the only friends
+to whom she chose to listen were her uncle and her aunt, but she thought
+that it might perhaps be better that she should remain silent.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Of course, my dear, a young person like you must know that she
+must walk by advice, and I am sure you must feel that no one can give
+it you more fittingly than your own priest.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then he took
+a large pinch of snuff.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If it were anything to do with the Church, - yes,&rsquo; she
+said.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And this has to do with the Church, very much.&nbsp; Indeed I
+do not know how any of our duties in this life cannot have to do with
+the Church.&nbsp; There can be no duty omitted as to which you would
+not acknowledge that it was necessary that you should get absolution
+from your priest.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But that would be in the church,&rsquo; said Marie, not quite
+knowing how to make good her point.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Whether you are in the church or out of it, is just the same.&nbsp;
+If you were sick and in bed, would your priest be nothing to you then?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But I am quite well, Father Gondin.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well in health; but sick in spirit, - as I am sure you must own.&nbsp;
+And I must explain to you, my dear, that this is a matter in which your
+religious duty is specially in question.&nbsp; You have been betrothed,
+you know, to M. Urmand.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But people betrothed are very often not married,&rsquo; said
+Marie quickly.&nbsp; &lsquo;There was Annette Lolme at Saint Die.&nbsp;
+She was betrothed to Jean Stein at Pugnac.&nbsp; That was only last
+winter.&nbsp; And then there was something wrong about the money; and
+the betrothal went for nothing, and Father Carrier himself said it was
+all right.&nbsp; If it was all right for Annette Lolme, it must be all
+right for me as far as betrothing goes.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+The story that Marie told so clearly was perfectly true, and M. le Cur&eacute;
+Gondin knew that it was true.&nbsp; He wished now to teach Marie that
+if certain circumstances should occur after a betrothal which would
+make the marriage inexpedient in the eyes of the parents of the young
+people, then the authority of the Church would not exert itself to insist
+on the sacred nature of the pledge; - but that if the pledge was to
+be called in question simply at the instance of a capricious young woman,
+then the Church would have full power.&nbsp; His object, in short, was
+to insist on parental authority, giving to parental authority some little
+additional strength from his own sacerdotal recognition of the sanctity
+of the betrothing promise.&nbsp; But he feared that Marie would be too
+strong for him, if not also too clear-headed.&nbsp; &lsquo;You cannot
+mean to tell me,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;that you think such a solemn
+promise as you have given to this young man, taking one from him as
+solemn in return, is to go for nothing?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am very sorry that I promised, - very sorry indeed; but I cannot
+keep my promise.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You are bound to keep it, especially as all your friends wish
+the marriage, and think that it will be good for you.&nbsp; Annette
+Lolme&rsquo;s friends wished her not to marry.&nbsp; It is my duty to
+tell you, Marie, that if you break your faith to M. Urmand, you will
+commit a very grievous sin, and you will commit it with your eyes open.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If Annette Lolme might change her mind because her lover had
+not got as much money as people wanted, I am sure I may change mine
+because I don&rsquo;t love a man.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Annette did what her friends advised her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then a girl must always do what her friends tell her?&nbsp; If
+I don&rsquo;t marry M. Urmand, I sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t be wicked for breaking
+my promise, but for disobeying Uncle Michel.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You will be wicked in every way,&rsquo; said the priest.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, M. le Cur&eacute;.&nbsp; If I had married M. Urmand, I know
+I should be wicked to leave him, and I would do my best to live with
+him and make him a good wife.&nbsp; But I have found out in time that
+I can&rsquo;t love him; and therefore I am sure that I ought not to
+marry him, and I won&rsquo;t.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+There was much more said between them, but M. le Cur&eacute; Gondin
+was not able to prevail in the least.&nbsp; He tried to cajole her,
+and he tried to persuade by threats, and he tried to conquer her by
+gratitude and affection towards her uncle.&nbsp; But he could not prevail
+at all.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is of no use my staying here any longer, M. le Cur&eacute;,&rsquo;
+she said at last, &lsquo;because I am quite sure that nothing on earth
+will induce me to consent.&nbsp; I am very sorry for what I have done.&nbsp;
+If you tell me that I have sinned, I will repent and confess it.&nbsp;
+I have repented, and am very, very sorry.&nbsp; I know now that I was
+very wrong ever to think it possible that I could be his wife.&nbsp;
+But you can&rsquo;t make me think that I am wrong in this.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then she left him, and as soon as she was gone, Madame Voss returned
+to hear the priest&rsquo;s report as to his success.<br>
+<br>
+In the mean time, Michel Voss had reached Basle, arriving there some
+five hours before Marie&rsquo;s letter, and, in his ignorance of the
+law, had made his futile attempt to intercept the letter before it reached
+the hands of M. Urmand.&nbsp; But he was with Urmand when the letter
+was delivered, and endeavoured to persuade his young friend not to open
+it.&nbsp; But in doing this he was obliged to explain, to a certain
+extent, what was the nature of the letter.&nbsp; He was obliged to say
+so much about it as to justify the unhappy lover in asserting that it
+would be better for them all that he should know the contents.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;At any rate, you will promise not to believe it,&rsquo; said
+Michel.&nbsp; And he did succeed in obtaining from M. Urmand a sort
+of promise that he would not regard the words of the letter as in truth
+expressing Marie&rsquo;s real resolution.&nbsp; &lsquo;Girls, you know,
+are such queer cattle,&rsquo; said Michel.&nbsp; &lsquo;They think about
+all manner of things, and then they don&rsquo;t know what they are thinking.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But who is the other man?&rsquo; demanded Adrian, as soon as
+he had finished the letter.&nbsp; Any one judging from his countenance
+when he asked the question would have imagined that in spite of his
+promise he believed every word that had been written to him.&nbsp; His
+face was a picture of blank despair, and his voice was low and hoarse.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;You must know whom she means,&rsquo; he added, when Michel did
+not at once reply.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; I know whom she means.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Who is it then, M. Voss?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is George, of course,&rsquo; replied the innkeeper.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I did not know,&rsquo; said poor Adrian Urmand.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She never spoke a dozen words to any other man in her life, and
+as for him, she has hardly seen him for the last eighteen months.&nbsp;
+He has come over and said something to her, like a traitor, - has reminded
+her of some childish promise, some old vow, something said when they
+were children, and meaning nothing; and so he has frightened her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I was never told that there was anything between them,&rsquo;
+said Urmand, beginning to think that it would become him to be indignant.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;There was nothing to tell, - literally nothing.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;They must have been writing to each other.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Never a line; on my word as a man.&nbsp; It was just as I tell
+you.&nbsp; When George went from home, there had been some fooling,
+as I thought, between them; and I was glad that he should go.&nbsp;
+I didn&rsquo;t think it meant anything, or ever would.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+As Michel Voss said this, there did occur to him an idea that perhaps,
+after all, he had been wrong to interfere in the first instance, - that
+there had then been no really valid reason why George should not have
+married Marie Bromar; but that did not in the least influence his judgment
+as to what it might be expedient to do now.&nbsp; He was still as sure
+as ever that as things stood now, it was his duty to do all in his power
+to bring about the marriage between his niece and Adrian Urmand.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;But since that, there has been nothing,&rsquo; continued he,
+&lsquo;absolutely nothing.&nbsp; Ask her, and she will tell you so.&nbsp;
+It is some romantic idea of hers that she ought to stick to her first
+promise, now that she has been reminded of it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+All this did not convince Adrian Urmand, who for a while expressed his
+opinion that it would be better for him to take Marie&rsquo;s refusal,
+and thus to let the matter drop.&nbsp; It would be very bitter to him,
+because all Basle had now heard of his proposed marriage, and a whole
+shower of congratulations had already fallen upon him from his fellow-townspeople:
+but he thought that it would be more bitter to be rejected again in
+person by Marie Bromar, and then to be stared at by all the natives
+of Granpere.&nbsp; He acknowledged that George Voss was a traitor; and
+would have been ready to own that Marie was another, had Michel Voss
+given him any encouragement in that direction.&nbsp; But Michel throughout
+the whole morning, - and they were closeted together for hours, - declared
+that poor Marie was more sinned against than sinning.&nbsp; If Adrian
+was but once more over at Granpere, all would be made right.&nbsp; At
+last Michel Voss prevailed, and persuaded the young man to return with
+him to the Lion d&rsquo;Or.<br>
+<br>
+They started early on the following morning, and travelled to Granpere
+by way of Colmar and the mountain.&nbsp; The father thus passed twice
+through Colmar, but on neither occasion did he call upon his son.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XVII.<br>
+<br>
+There had been very little said between Michel Voss and Urmand on their
+journey towards Granpere till they were at the top of the Vosges, on
+the mountain road, at which place they had to leave their little carriage
+and bait their horse.&nbsp; Indeed Michel had been asleep during almost
+the entire time.&nbsp; On the night but one before he had not been in
+bed at all, having reached Basle after midnight, and having passed the
+hours &lsquo;twixt that and his morning visit to Urmand&rsquo;s house
+in his futile endeavours to stop poor Marie&rsquo;s letter.&nbsp; And
+the departure of the travellers from Basle on this morning had been
+very early, so that the poor innkeeper had been robbed of his proper
+allowance of natural rest.&nbsp; He had slept soundly in the train to
+Colmar, and had afterwards slept in the little <i>cal&egrave;che</i>
+which had taken them to the top of the mountain.&nbsp; Urmand had sat
+silent by his side, - by no means anxious to disturb his companion,
+because he had no determined plan ready to communicate.&nbsp; Once or
+twice before he reached Colmar he had thought that he would go back
+again.&nbsp; He had been, he felt, badly treated; and, though he was
+very fond of Marie, it would be better for him perhaps to wash his hands
+of the whole affair.&nbsp; He was so thinking the whole way to Colmar.&nbsp;
+But he was afraid of Michel Voss, and when they got out upon the platform
+there, he had no resolution ready to be declared as fixed.&nbsp; Then
+they had hired the little carriage, and Michel Voss had slept again.&nbsp;
+He had slept all through M&uuml;nster, and up the steep mountain, and
+was not thoroughly awake till they were summoned to get out at the wonderfully
+fine house for refreshment which the late Emperor caused to be built
+at the top of the hill.&nbsp; Here they went into the restaurant, and
+as Michel Voss was known to the man who kept it, he ordered a bottle
+of wine.&nbsp; &lsquo;What a terrible place to live in all the winter!&rsquo;
+he said, as he looked down through the window right into the deep valley
+below.&nbsp; From the spot on which the house is built you can see all
+the broken wooded ground of the steep descent, and then the broad plain
+that stretches away to the valley of the Rhine.&nbsp; &lsquo;There is
+nothing but snow here after Christmas,&rsquo; continued Michel, &lsquo;and
+perhaps not a Christian over the road for days together.&nbsp; I shouldn&rsquo;t
+like it, I know.&nbsp; It may be all very well just now.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+But Adrian Urmand was altogether inattentive either to the scenery now
+before him, or to the prospect of the mountain innkeeper&rsquo;s winter
+life.&nbsp; He knew that two hours and a half would take them down the
+mountain into Granpere, and that when there, it would be at once necessary
+that he should begin a task the idea of which was by no means pleasant
+to him.&nbsp; He was quite sure now that he wished he had remained at
+Basle, and that he had accepted Marie&rsquo;s letter as final.&nbsp;
+He told himself again and again that he could not make her marry him
+if she chose to change her mind.&nbsp; What was he to say, and what
+was he to do when he got to Granpere, a place which he almost wished
+that he had never seen in spite of those profitable linen-buyings?&nbsp;
+And now when Michel Voss began to talk to him about the scenery, and
+what this man up in the mountain did in the winter, - at this moment
+when his terrible trouble was so very near him, - he felt it to be an
+insult, or at least a cruelty.&nbsp; &lsquo;What can he do from December
+till April except smoke and drink?&rsquo; asked Michel Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t care what he does,&rsquo; said Urmand, turning
+away.&nbsp; &lsquo;I only know I wish I&rsquo;d never come here.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Take a glass of wine, my friend,&rsquo; said Michel.&nbsp; &lsquo;The
+mountain air has made you chill.&rsquo;&nbsp; Urmand took the glass
+of wine, but it did not cheer him much.&nbsp; &lsquo;We shall have it
+all right before the day is over,&rsquo; continued Michel.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think it will ever be all right,&rsquo; said the
+other.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And why not?&nbsp; The fact is, you don&rsquo;t understand young
+women; as how should you, seeing that you have not had to manage them?&nbsp;
+You do as I tell you, and just be round with her.&nbsp; You tell her
+that you don&rsquo;t desire any change yourself, and that after what
+has passed you can&rsquo;t allow her to think of such a thing.&nbsp;
+You speak as though you had a downright claim, as you have; and all
+will come right.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s not that she cares for him, you know.&nbsp;
+You must remember that.&nbsp; She has never even said a word of that
+kind.&nbsp; I haven&rsquo;t a doubt on my mind as to which she really
+likes best; but it&rsquo;s that stupid promise, and the way that George
+has had of making her believe that she is bound by the first word she
+ever spoke to a young man.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s only nonsense, and of course
+we must get over it.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then they were summoned out, the horse
+having finished his meal, and were rattled down the hill into Granpere
+without many more words between them.<br>
+<br>
+One other word was spoken, and that word was hardly pleasant in its
+tone.&nbsp; Urmand at least did not relish it.&nbsp; &lsquo;I shall
+go away at once if she doesn&rsquo;t treat me as she ought,&rsquo; said
+he, just as they were entering the village.<br>
+<br>
+Michel was silent for a moment before he answered.&nbsp; &lsquo;You&rsquo;ll
+behave, I&rsquo;m sure, as a man ought to behave to a young woman whom
+he intends to make his wife.&rsquo;&nbsp; The words themselves were
+civil enough; but there was a tone in the innkeeper&rsquo;s voice and
+a flame in his eye, which made Urmand almost feel that he had been threatened.&nbsp;
+Then they drove into the space in front of the door of the Lion d&rsquo;Or.<br>
+<br>
+Michel had made for himself no plan whatsoever.&nbsp; He led the way
+at once into the house, and Urmand followed, hardly daring to look up
+into the faces of the persons around him.&nbsp; They were both of them
+soon in the presence of Madame Voss, but Marie Bromar was not there.&nbsp;
+Marie had been sharp enough to perceive who was coming before they were
+out of the carriage, and was already ensconced in some safer retreat
+up-stairs, in which she could meditate on her plan of the campaign.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Look lively, and get us something to eat,&rsquo; said Michel,
+meaning to be cheerful and self-possessed.&nbsp; &lsquo;We left Basle
+at five, and have not eaten a mouthful since.&rsquo;&nbsp; It was now
+nearly four o&rsquo;clock, and the bread and cheese which had been served
+with the wine on the top of the mountain had of course gone for nothing.&nbsp;
+Madame Voss immediately began to bustle about, calling the cook and
+Peter Veque to her assistance.&nbsp; But nothing for a while was said
+about Marie.&nbsp; Urmand, trying to look as though he were self-possessed,
+stood with his back to the stove, and whistled.&nbsp; For a few minutes,
+during which the bustling about the table went on, Michel was wrapped
+in thought, and said nothing.&nbsp; At last he had made up his mind,
+and spoke: &lsquo;We might as well make a dash at it at once,&rsquo;
+said he.&nbsp; &lsquo;Where is Marie?&rsquo;&nbsp; No one answered him.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Where is Marie Bromar?&rsquo; he asked again, angrily.&nbsp;
+He knew that it behoved him now to take upon himself at once the real
+authority of a master of a house.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She is up-stairs,&rsquo; said Peter, who was straightening a
+table-cloth.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Tell her to come down to me,&rsquo; said her uncle.&nbsp; Peter
+departed immediately, and for a while there was silence in the little
+room.&nbsp; Adrian Urmand felt his heart to palpitate disagreeably.&nbsp;
+Indeed, the manner in which it would appear that the innkeeper proposed
+to manage the business was distressing enough to him.&nbsp; It seemed
+as though it were intended that he should discuss his little difficulties
+with Marie in the presence of the whole household.&nbsp; But he stood
+his ground, and sounded one more ineffectual little whistle.&nbsp; In
+a few minutes Peter returned, but said nothing.&nbsp; &lsquo;Where is
+Marie Bromar?&rsquo; again demanded Michel in an angry voice.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I told her to come down,&rsquo; said Peter.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think she&rsquo;s coming,&rsquo; said Peter.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What did she say?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Not a word; she only bade me go down.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then Michel
+walked into the kitchen as though he were about to fetch the recusant
+himself.&nbsp; But he stopped himself, and asked his wife to go up to
+Marie.&nbsp; Madame Voss did go up, and after her return there was some
+whispering between her and her husband.&nbsp; &lsquo;She is upset by
+the excitement of your return,&rsquo; Michel said at last; &lsquo;and
+we must give her a little grace.&nbsp; Come, we will eat our dinner.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+In the mean time Marie was sitting on her bed up-stairs in a most unhappy
+plight.&nbsp; She really loved her uncle, and almost feared him.&nbsp;
+She did fear him with that sort of fear which is produced by reverence
+and habits of obedience, but which, when softened by affection, hardly
+makes itself known as fear, except on troublous occasions.&nbsp; And
+she was oppressed by the remembrance of all that was due from her to
+him and to her aunt, feeling, as it was natural that she should do,
+in compliance with the manners and habits of her people, that she owed
+a duty of obedience in this matter of marriage.&nbsp; Though she had
+been able to hold her own against the priest, and had been quite firm
+in opposition to her aunt, - who was in truth a woman much less strong
+by nature than herself, - she dreaded a farther dispute with her uncle.&nbsp;
+She could not bear to think that he should be enabled to accuse her
+with justice of ingratitude.&nbsp; It had been her great pleasure to
+be true to him, and he had answered her truth by a perfect confidence
+which had given a charm to her life.&nbsp; Now this would all be over,
+and she would be driven again to beg him to send her away, that she
+might become a household drudge elsewhere.&nbsp; And now that this very
+moment of her agony had come, and that this man to whom she had given
+a promise was there to claim her, how was she to go down and say what
+she had to say, before all the world?&nbsp; It was perfectly clear to
+her that in accordance with her reception of Urmand at the first moment
+of their meeting, so must be her continued conduct towards him, till
+he should leave her, or else take her away with him.&nbsp; She could
+not smile on him and shake hands with him, and cut his bread for him
+and pour out his wine, after such a letter as she had written to him,
+without signifying thereby that the letter was to go for nothing.&nbsp;
+Now, let what might happen, the letter was not to go for nothing.&nbsp;
+The letter was to remain a true fact, and a true letter.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+can&rsquo;t go down, Aunt Josey; indeed I can&rsquo;t,&rsquo; she said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I am not well, and I should drop.&nbsp; Pray tell Uncle Michel,
+with my best love and with my duty, that I can&rsquo;t go to him now.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+And she sat still upon her bed, not weeping, but clasping her hands,
+and trying to see her way out of her misfortune.<br>
+<br>
+The dinner was eaten in grim silence, and after the dinner Michel, still
+grimly silent, sat with his friend on the bench before the door and
+smoked a cigar.&nbsp; While he was smoking, Michel said never a word.&nbsp;
+But he was thinking of the difficulty he had to overcome; and he was
+thinking also, at odd moments, whether his own son George was not, after
+all, a better sort of lover for a young woman than this young man who
+was seated by his side.&nbsp; But it never occurred to him that he might
+find a solution of the difficulty by encouraging this second idea.&nbsp;
+Urmand, during this time, was telling himself that it behoved him to
+be a man, and that his sitting there in silence was hardly proof of
+his manliness.&nbsp; He knew that he was being ill-treated, and that
+he must do something to redress his own wrongs, if he only knew how
+to do it.&nbsp; He was quite determined that he would not be a coward;
+that he would stand up for his own rights.&nbsp; But if a young woman
+won&rsquo;t marry a man, a man can&rsquo;t make her do so, either by
+scolding her, or by fighting any of her friends.&nbsp; In this case
+the young lady&rsquo;s friends were all on his side.&nbsp; But the weight
+of that half hour of silence and of Michel&rsquo;s gloom was intolerable
+to him.&nbsp; At last he got up and declared he would go and see an
+old woman who would have linen to sell.&nbsp; &lsquo;As I am here, I
+might as well do a stroke of work,&rsquo; he said, striving to be jocose.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Do,&rsquo; said Michel; &lsquo;and in the mean time I will see
+Marie Bromar.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Whenever Michel Voss was heard to call his niece Marie Bromar, using
+the two names, it was understood, by all who heard him about the hotel,
+that he was not in a good humour.&nbsp; As soon as Urmand was gone,
+he rose slowly from his seat, and with heavy steps he went up-stairs
+in search of the refractory girl.&nbsp; He went straight to her own
+bedroom, and there he found her still sitting on her bedside.&nbsp;
+She jumped up as soon as he was in the room, and running up to him,
+took him by the arm.&nbsp; &lsquo;Uncle Michel,&rsquo; she said, &lsquo;pray,
+pray be good to me.&nbsp; Pray, spare me!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am good to you,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;I try to be good
+to you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You know that I love you.&nbsp; Do you not know that I love you?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Then she paused, but he made no answer to her.&nbsp; He was surer of
+nothing in the world than he was of her affection; but it did not suit
+him to acknowledge it at that moment.&nbsp; &lsquo;I would do anything
+for you that I could do, Uncle Michel; but pray do not ask me to do
+this?&rsquo;&nbsp; Then she clasped him tightly, and hung upon him,
+and put up her face to be kissed.&nbsp; But he would not kiss her.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Ah,&rsquo; said she; &lsquo;you mean to be hard to me.&nbsp;
+Then I must go; then I must go; then I must go.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That is nonsense, Marie.&nbsp; You cannot go, till you go to
+your husband.&nbsp; Where would you go to?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It matters not where I go to now.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Marie, you are betrothed to this man, and you must consent to
+become his wife.&nbsp; Say that you will consent, and all this nonsense
+shall be forgotten.&rsquo;&nbsp; She did not say that she would consent;
+but she did not say that she would not, and he thought that he might
+persuade her, if he could speak to her as he ought.&nbsp; But he doubted
+which might be most efficacious, affection or severity.&nbsp; He had
+assured himself that it would be his duty to be very severe, before
+he gave up the point; but it might be possible, as she was so sweet
+with him, so loving and so gracious, that affection might prevail.&nbsp;
+If so, how much easier would the task be to himself!&nbsp; So he put
+his arm round her, and stooped down and kissed her.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, Uncle Michel,&rsquo; she said; &lsquo;dear, dear Uncle Michel;
+say that you will spare me, and be on my side, and be good to me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;My darling girl, it is for your own good, for the good of us
+all, that you should marry this man.&nbsp; Do you not know that I would
+not tell you so, if it were not true?&nbsp; I cannot be more good to
+you than that.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I can - not, Uncle Michel.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Tell me why, now.&nbsp; What is it?&nbsp; Has anybody been bringing
+tales to you?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nobody has brought any tales.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Is there anything amiss with him?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is not that.&nbsp; It is not that at all.&nbsp; I am sure
+he is an excellent young man, and I wish with all my heart he had a
+better wife than I can ever be.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He thinks you will be quite good enough for him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am not good for anybody.&nbsp; I am very bad.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Leave him to judge of that.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But I cannot do it, Uncle Michel.&nbsp; I can never be Adrian
+Urmand&rsquo;s wife.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But why, why, why?&rsquo; repeated Michel, who was beginning
+to be again angered by his own want of success.&nbsp; &lsquo;You have
+said that a dozen times, but have never attempted to give a reason.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I will tell you the reason.&nbsp; It is because I love George
+with all my heart, and with all my soul.&nbsp; He is so dear to me,
+that I should always be thinking of him.&nbsp; I could not help myself.&nbsp;
+I should always have him in my heart.&nbsp; Would that be right, Uncle
+Michel, if I were married to another man?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then why did you accept the other man?&nbsp; There is nothing
+changed since then.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I was wicked then.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think you were wicked at all; - but at any rate
+you did it.&nbsp; You didn&rsquo;t think anything about having George
+in your heart then.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+It was very hard for her to answer this, and for a moment or two she
+was silenced.&nbsp; At last she found a reply.&nbsp; &lsquo;I thought
+everything was dead within me then, - and that it didn&rsquo;t signify.&nbsp;
+Since that he has been here, and he has told me all.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I wish he had stayed where he was with all my heart.&nbsp; We
+did not want him here,&rsquo; said the innkeeper in his anger.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But he did come, Uncle Michel.&nbsp; I did not send for him,
+but he did come.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; he came, - and he has disturbed everything that I had arranged
+so happily.&nbsp; Look here, Marie.&nbsp; I lay my commands upon you
+as your uncle and guardian, and I may say also as your best and stanchest
+friend, to be true to the solemn engagement which you have made with
+this young man.&nbsp; I will not hear any answer from you now, but I
+leave you with that command.&nbsp; Urmand has come here at my request,
+because I told him that you would be obedient.&nbsp; If you make a fool
+of me, and of yourself, and of us all, it will be impossible that I
+should forgive you.&nbsp; He will see you this evening, and I will trust
+to your good sense to receive him with propriety.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then
+Michel Voss left the room and descended with ponderous steps, indicative
+of a heavy heart.<br>
+<br>
+Marie, when she was alone, again seated herself on the bedside.&nbsp;
+Of course she must see Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; She was quite aware that
+she could not encounter him now with that half-saucy independent air
+which had come to her quite naturally before she had accepted him.&nbsp;
+She would willingly humble herself in the dust before him, if by so
+doing she could induce him to relinquish his suit.&nbsp; But if she
+could not do so; if she could not talk over either her uncle or him
+to be on what she called her side, then what should she do?&nbsp; Her
+uncle&rsquo;s entreaties to her, joined to his too evident sorrow, had
+upon her an effect so powerful, that she could hardly overcome it.&nbsp;
+She had, as she thought, resolved most positively that nothing should
+induce her to marry Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; She had of course been very
+firm in this resolution when she wrote her letter.&nbsp; But now - now
+she was almost shaken!&nbsp; When she thought only of herself, she would
+almost task herself to believe that after all it did not much matter
+what of happiness or of unhappiness might befall her.&nbsp; If she allowed
+herself to be taken to a new home at Basle she could still work and
+eat and drink, - and working, eating, and drinking she could wait till
+her unhappiness should be removed.&nbsp; She was sufficiently wise to
+understand that as she became a middle-aged woman, with perhaps children
+around her, her sorrow would melt into a soft regret which would be
+at least endurable.&nbsp; And what did it signify after all how much
+one such a being as herself might suffer?&nbsp; The world would go on
+in the same way, and her small troubles would be of but little significance.&nbsp;
+Work would save her from utter despondence.&nbsp; But when she thought
+of George, and the words in which he had expressed the constancy of
+his own love, and the shipwreck which would fall upon him if she were
+untrue to him, - then again she would become strong in her determination.&nbsp;
+Her uncle had threatened her with his lasting displeasure.&nbsp; He
+had said that it would be impossible that he should forgive her.&nbsp;
+That would be unbearable!&nbsp; Yet, when she thought of George, she
+told herself that it must be borne.<br>
+<br>
+Before the hour of supper came, her aunt had been with her, and she
+had promised to see her suitor alone.&nbsp; There had been some doubt
+on this point between Michel and his wife, Madame Voss thinking that
+either she or her husband ought to be present.&nbsp; But Michel had
+prevailed.&nbsp; &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t care what any people may say,&rsquo;
+he replied.&nbsp; &lsquo;I know my own girl; - and I know also what
+he has a right to expect.&rsquo;&nbsp; So it was settled, and Marie
+understood that Adrian was to come to her in the little brightly furnished
+sitting-room upstairs.&nbsp; On this occasion she took no notice of
+the hotel supper at all.&nbsp; It is to be hoped that Peter Veque proved
+himself equal to the occasion.<br>
+<br>
+At about nine she was seated in the appointed place, and Madame Voss
+brought her lover up into the room.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Here is M. Urmand come to speak to you,&rsquo; she said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Your uncle thinks that you had better see him alone.&nbsp; I
+am sure you will bear in mind what it is that he and I wish.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Then she closed the door, and Adrian and Marie were left together.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I need hardly tell you,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;what were my feelings
+when your uncle came to me yesterday morning.&nbsp; And when I opened
+your letter and read it, I could hardly believe that it had come from
+you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes, M. Urmand; - it did come from me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And why - what have I done?&nbsp; The last word you had spoken
+to me was to declare that you would be my loving wife.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Not that, M. Urmand; never that.&nbsp; When I thought it was
+to be so, I told you that I would do my best to do my duty by you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Say that once more, and all shall be right.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But I never promised that I would love you.&nbsp; I could not
+promise that; and I was very wicked to allow them to give you my troth.&nbsp;
+You can&rsquo;t think worse of me than I think of myself.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But, Marie, why should you not love me?&nbsp; I am sure you would
+love me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Listen to me, M. Urmand; listen to me, and be generous to me.&nbsp;
+I think you can be generous to a poor girl who is very unhappy.&nbsp;
+I do not love you.&nbsp; I do not say that I should not have loved you,
+if you had been the first.&nbsp; Why should not any girl love you?&nbsp;
+You are above me in every way, and rich, and well spoken of; and your
+life has been less rough and poor than mine.&nbsp; It is not that I
+have been proud.&nbsp; What is there that I can be proud of - except
+my uncle&rsquo;s trust in me?&nbsp; But George Voss had come to me before,
+and had made me promise that I would love him; - and I do love him.&nbsp;
+How can I help it, if I wished to help it?&nbsp; O, M. Urmand, can you
+not be generous?&nbsp; Think how little it is that you will lose.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+But Adrian Urmand did not like to be told of the girl&rsquo;s love for
+another man.&nbsp; His generosity would almost have been more easily
+reached had she told him of George&rsquo;s love for her.&nbsp; People
+had assured him since he was engaged that Marie Bromar was the handsomest
+girl in Lorraine or Alsace; and he felt it to be an injury that this
+handsome girl should prefer such a one as George Voss to himself.&nbsp;
+Marie, with a woman&rsquo;s sharpness, perceived all this accurately.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Remember,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;that I had hardly seen you
+when George and I were - when he and I became such friends.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Your uncle doesn&rsquo;t want you to marry his son.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I shall never become George&rsquo;s wife without consent; never.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then what would be the use of my giving way?&rsquo; asked Urmand.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;He would never consent.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+She paused for a moment before she replied.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;To save yourself,&rsquo; said she, &lsquo;from living with a
+woman who cannot love you, and to save me from living with a man I cannot
+love.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And is this to be all the answer you will give me?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is the request that I have to make to you,&rsquo; said Marie.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then I had better go down to your uncle.&rsquo;&nbsp; And he
+went down to Michel Voss, leaving Marie Bromar again alone.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XVIII.<br>
+<br>
+The people of Colmar think Colmar to be a considerable place, and far
+be it from us to hint that it is not so.&nbsp; It is - or was in the
+days when Alsace was French - the chief town of the department of the
+Haut Rhine.&nbsp; It bristles with barracks, and is busy with cotton
+factories.&nbsp; It has been accustomed to the presence of a pr&eacute;fet,
+and is no doubt important.&nbsp; But it is not so large that people
+going in and out of it can pass without attention, and this we take
+to be the really true line of demarcation between a big town and a little
+one.&nbsp; Had Michel Voss and Adrian Urmand passed through Lyons or
+Strasbourg on their journey to Granpere, no one would have noticed them,
+and their acquaintances in either of those cities would not have been
+a bit the wiser.&nbsp; But it was not probable that they should leave
+the train at the Colmar station, and hire Daniel Bredin&rsquo;s <i>cal&egrave;che</i>
+for the mountain journey thence to Granpere, without all the facts of
+the case coming to the ears of Madame Faragon.&nbsp; And when she had
+heard the news, of course she told it to George Voss.&nbsp; She had
+interested herself very keenly in the affair of George&rsquo;s love,
+partly because she had a soft heart of her own and loved a ray of romance
+to fall in upon her as she sat fat and helpless in her easy-chair, and
+partly because she thought that the future landlord of the H&ocirc;tel
+de la Poste at Colmar ought to be regarded as a bigger man and a better
+match than any Swiss linen-merchant in the world.&nbsp; &lsquo;I can&rsquo;t
+think what it is that your father means,&rsquo; she had said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;When he and I were young, he used not to be so fond of the people
+of Basle, and he didn&rsquo;t think so much then of a peddling buyer
+of sheetings and shirtings.&rsquo;&nbsp; Madame Faragon was rather fond
+of alluding to past times, and of hinting to George that in early days,
+had she been willing, she might have been mistress of the Lion d&rsquo;Or
+at Granpere, instead of the Poste at Colmar.&nbsp; George never quite
+believed the boast, as he knew that Madame Faragon was at least ten
+years older than his father.&nbsp; &lsquo;He used to think,&rsquo; continued
+Madame Faragon, &lsquo;that there was nothing better than a good house
+in the public line, with a well-spirited woman inside it to stand her
+ground and hold her own.&nbsp; But everything is changed now, since
+the railroads came up.&nbsp; The pedlars become merchants, and the respectable
+old shopkeepers must go to the wall.&rsquo;&nbsp; George would hear
+all this in silence, though he knew that his old friend was endeavouring
+to comfort him by making little of the Basle linen-merchant.&nbsp; Now,
+when Madame Faragon learned that Michel Voss and Adrian Urmand had gone
+through Colmar back from Basle on their way to Granpere, she immediately
+foresaw what was to happen.&nbsp; Marie&rsquo;s marriage was to be hurried
+on, George was to be thrown overboard, and the pedlar&rsquo;s pack was
+to be triumphant over the sign of the innkeeper.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If I were you, George, I would dash in among them at once,&rsquo;
+said Madame Faragon.<br>
+<br>
+George was silent for a minute or two, leaving the room and returning
+to it before he made any answer.&nbsp; Then he declared that he would
+dash in among them at Granpere.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It will be better to go over and see it all settled,&rsquo; he
+said.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But, George, you won&rsquo;t quarrel?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What do you mean by quarrelling?&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t suppose
+that this man and I can be very dear friends when we meet each other.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You won&rsquo;t have any fighting?&nbsp; O, George, if I thought
+there was going to be fighting, I would go myself to prevent it.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Madame Faragon no doubt was sincere in her desire that there should
+be no fighting; but, nevertheless, there was a life and reality about
+this little affair which had a gratifying effect upon her.&nbsp; &lsquo;If
+I thought I could do any good, I really would go,&rsquo; she said again
+afterwards.&nbsp; But George did not encourage her to make the attempt.<br>
+<br>
+No more was said about it; but early on the following morning, or in
+truth long before the morning had dawned, George had started upon his
+journey, following his father and M. Urmand in their route over the
+mountain.&nbsp; This was the third time he had gone to Granpere in the
+course of the present autumn, and on each time he had gone without invitation
+and without warning.&nbsp; And yet, previous to this, he had remained
+above a year at Colmar without taking any notice of his family.&nbsp;
+He knew that his father would not make him welcome, and he almost doubted
+whether it would be proper for him to drive himself direct to the door
+of the hotel.&nbsp; His father had told him, when they were last parting
+from each other, that he was nothing but a trouble.&nbsp; &lsquo;You
+are all trouble,&rsquo; his father had said to him.&nbsp; And then his
+father had threatened to have him turned from the door by the servants,
+if he should come to the house again before Marie and Adrian were married.&nbsp;
+He was not afraid of his father; but he felt that he had no right to
+treat the Lion d&rsquo;Or as his own home unless he was prepared to
+obey his father.&nbsp; And he knew nothing as to Marie and her purpose.&nbsp;
+He had learned from her that, were she left to herself, she would give
+herself with all her heart to him.&nbsp; But she would not be left to
+herself, and he only knew now that Adrian Urmand was being taken back
+to Granpere, - of course with the intention that the marriage should
+be at once perfected.&nbsp; Madame Faragon had, no doubt, been right
+in her advice as to dashing in among them at once.&nbsp; Whatever was
+to be done must be done now.&nbsp; But it was by no means clear to him
+how he was to carry on the war when he found himself among them all
+at Granpere.<br>
+<br>
+It was now October, and the morning on the mountain was very dark and
+cold.&nbsp; He had started from Colmar between three and four, so that
+he had passed through M&uuml;nster, and was ascending the hill before
+six.&nbsp; He stopped, too, and fed his horse at the Emperor&rsquo;s
+house at the top, and fortified himself with a tumbler of wine and a
+hunch of bread.&nbsp; He meant to go into Granpere and claim Marie as
+his own.&nbsp; He would go to the priest, and to the pastor if necessary,
+and forbid all authorities to lend their countenance to the proposed
+marriage.&nbsp; He would speak his mind plainly, and would accuse his
+father of extreme cruelty.&nbsp; He would call upon Madame Voss to save
+her niece.&nbsp; He would be very savage with Marie, hoping that he
+might thereby save her from herself, - defying her to say either before
+man or God that she loved the man whom she was about to make her husband.&nbsp;
+And as to Adrian Urmand himself - ; he still thought that, should the
+worst come to the worst, he would try some process of choking upon Adrian
+Urmand.&nbsp; Any use of personal violence would be distasteful to him
+and contrary to his nature.&nbsp; He was not a man who in the ordinary
+way of his life would probably lift his hand against another.&nbsp;
+Such liftings of hands on the part of other men he regarded as a falling
+back to the truculence of savage life.&nbsp; Men should manage and coerce
+each other either with the tongue, or with money, or with the law -
+according to his theory of life.&nbsp; But on such an occasion as this
+he found himself obliged to acknowledge that, if the worst should come
+to the worst, some attempt at choking his enemy must be made.&nbsp;
+It must be made for Marie&rsquo;s sake, if not for his own.&nbsp; In
+this mood of mind he drove down to Granpere, and, not knowing where
+else to stop, drew up his horse in the middle of the road before the
+hotel.&nbsp; The stable-servant, who was hanging about, immediately
+came to him; - and there was his father standing, all alone, at the
+door of the house.&nbsp; It was now ten o&rsquo;clock, and he had expected
+that his father would have been away from home, as was his custom at
+that hour.&nbsp; But the innkeeper&rsquo;s mind was at present too full
+of trouble to allow of his going off either to the woodcutting or to
+the farm.<br>
+<br>
+Adrian Urmand, after his failure with Marie on the preceding evening,
+had not again gone down-stairs.&nbsp; He had taken himself at once to
+his bedroom, and had remained there gloomy and unhappy, very angry with
+Marie Bromar; but, if possible, more angry with Michel Voss.&nbsp; Knowing,
+as he must have known, how the land lay, why had the innkeeper brought
+him from Basle to Granpere?&nbsp; He found himself to have been taken
+in, from first to last, by the whole household, and he would at this
+moment have been glad to obliterate Granpere altogether from among the
+valleys of the Vosges.&nbsp; And so he went to bed in his wrath.&nbsp;
+Michel and Madame Voss sat below waiting for him above an hour.&nbsp;
+Madame Voss more than once proposed that she should go up and see what
+was happening.&nbsp; It was impossible, she declared, that they should
+be talking together all that time.&nbsp; But her husband had stayed
+her.&nbsp; &lsquo;Whatever they have to say, let them say it out.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+It seemed to him that Marie must be giving way, if she submitted herself
+to so long an interview.&nbsp; When at last Madame Voss did go up-stairs,
+she learned from the maid that M. Urmand had been in bed ever so long;
+and on going to Marie&rsquo;s chamber, she found her sitting where she
+had sat before.&nbsp; &lsquo;Yes, Aunt Josey, I will go to bed at once,&rsquo;
+she said.&nbsp; &lsquo;Give uncle my love.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then Aunt Josey
+had returned to her husband, and neither of them had been able to extract
+any comfort from the affairs of the evening.<br>
+<br>
+Early on the following morning, M. le Cur&eacute; was called to a consultation.&nbsp;
+This was very distasteful to Michel Voss, because he was himself a Protestant,
+and, having lived all his life with a Protestant son and two Roman Catholic
+women in the house, he had come to feel that Father Gondin&rsquo;s religion
+was a religion for the weaker sex.&nbsp; He troubled himself very little
+with the doctrinal differences, having no slightest touch of an idea
+that he was to be saved because he was a Protestant, and that they were
+in peril because they were Roman Catholics.&nbsp; Nor, indeed, was there
+any such idea on either side prevalent in the valley.&nbsp; What M.
+le Cur&eacute; himself may have believed, who can say?&nbsp; But he
+never taught his parishioners that their Protestant uncles and wives
+and children were to be damned.&nbsp; Michel Voss was averse to priestly
+assistance; but now he submitted to it.&nbsp; He hardly knew himself
+how far that betrothal was a binding ceremony.&nbsp; But he felt strongly
+that he had committed himself to the marriage; that it did not become
+him to allow that his son had been right; and also that if Marie would
+only marry the man, she would find herself quite happy in her new home.&nbsp;
+So M. le Cur&eacute; was called in, and there was a consultation.&nbsp;
+M. le Cur&eacute; was quite as hot in favour of the marriage as were
+the other persons concerned.&nbsp; It was, in the first place, infinitely
+preferable in his eyes that his young parishioner should marry a Roman
+Catholic.&nbsp; But he was not able to undertake to use any special
+thunders of the Church.&nbsp; He could tell the young woman what was
+her duty, and he had done so.&nbsp; If her guardians wished it, he would
+do so again, very strongly.&nbsp; But he did not know how he was to
+do more.&nbsp; Then the priest told the story of Annette Lolme, pointing
+out how well Marie was acquainted with all the bearings of the case.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But both consented to break it off in that case,&rsquo; said
+Michel.&nbsp; It was singular to observe how cruel he had become against
+the girl whom he so dearly loved.&nbsp; The Cur&eacute; explained to
+him again that neither the Church nor the law could interfere to make
+her marry M. Urmand.&nbsp; It might be explained to her that she would
+commit a sin requiring penitence and absolution if she did not marry
+him.&nbsp; The Church could go no farther than that.&nbsp; But - such
+was the Cur&eacute;&rsquo;s opinion - there was no power at the command
+of Michel Voss by which he could force his niece to marry the man, unless
+his own internal power as a friend and a protector might enable him
+to do so.&nbsp; &lsquo;She doesn&rsquo;t care a straw for that now,&rsquo;
+said he.&nbsp; &lsquo;Not a straw.&nbsp; Since that fellow was over
+here, she thinks nothing of me, and nothing of her word.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Then he went out to the hotel door, leaving the priest with his wife,
+and he had not stood there for a minute or two before he saw his son&rsquo;s
+arrival.&nbsp; Marie, in the mean time, had not left her room.&nbsp;
+She had sent word down to her uncle that she was ill, and that she would
+beg him to go up to her.&nbsp; As yet he had not seen her; but a message
+had been taken to her, saying that he would come soon.&nbsp; Adrian
+Urmand had breakfasted alone, and had since been wandering about the
+house by himself.&nbsp; He also, from the windows of the billiard-room,
+had seen the arrival of George Voss.<br>
+<br>
+Michel Voss, when he saw George, did not move from his place.&nbsp;
+He was still very angry with his son, vehemently angry, because his
+son stood in the way of the completion of his desires.&nbsp; But he
+had forgotten all his threats, spoken now nearly a week ago.&nbsp; He
+was altogether oblivious of his declaration that he would have George
+turned away from the door by the servants of the inn.&nbsp; That his
+own son should treat his house as a home was so natural to him, that
+it did not even occur to him now that he could bid him not to enter.&nbsp;
+There he was again, creating more trouble; and, as far as our friend
+the innkeeper could see, likely enough to be successful in his object.&nbsp;
+Michel stood his ground, with his hands in his pockets, because he would
+not even shake hands with his son.&nbsp; But when George came up, he
+bowed a recognition with his head; as though he should have said, &lsquo;I
+see you; but I cannot say that you are welcome to Granpere.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+George stood for a moment or two, and then addressed his father.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Adrian Urmand is here with you, is he not, father?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He is in the house somewhere,&rsquo; said Michel, sullenly.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;May I speak to him?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am not his keeper; not his,&rsquo; and Michel put a special
+accent on the last word, by which he implied that though he was not
+the keeper of Adrian Urmand, he was the keeper of somebody else.&nbsp;
+George stood awhile, hesitating, by his father&rsquo;s side, and as
+he stood he saw through the window of the billiard-room the figure of
+Urmand, who was watching them.&nbsp; &lsquo;Your mother is in her own
+room; you had better go to her,&rsquo; said Michel.&nbsp; Then George
+entered the hotel, and his father went across the court to seek Urmand
+in his retreat.&nbsp; In this way the difficulty of the first meeting
+was overcome, and George did not find himself turned out of the Lion
+d&rsquo;Or.<br>
+<br>
+He knew of course nothing of the state of affairs at the inn.&nbsp;
+It might be that Marie had already given way, and was still the promised
+bride of this man.&nbsp; Indeed, to him it seemed most probable that
+such should be the case.&nbsp; He had been sent to look for Madame Voss,
+and Madame Voss he found in the kitchen.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, George, who expected to see you here to-day!&rsquo; she exclaimed.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Nobody, I daresay,&rsquo; he replied.&nbsp; The cook was there,
+and two or three other servants and hangers-on.&nbsp; It was impossible
+that he should speak out before so many persons, and he had not a friend
+about the place, unless Marie was his friend.&nbsp; After a few moments
+he went into the inner room, and Madame Voss followed him.&nbsp; &lsquo;Well,&rsquo;
+said he, &lsquo;has anything been settled?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am sorry to say that everything is as unsettled as it can be,&rsquo;
+said Madame Voss.<br>
+<br>
+Then Marie must be true to him!&nbsp; And if so, she must be the grandest
+woman, the finest girl that had ever been created.&nbsp; If so, would
+he not be true to her?&nbsp; If so, with what a true worship would he
+offer her all that he had to give in the world!&nbsp; He had come there
+before determined to crush her with his thunderbolt.&nbsp; Now he would
+swear to cherish her and keep her warm with his love for ever and ever.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Is she here?&rsquo; he asked.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She is up-stairs, in bed.&nbsp; You cannot see her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She is not ill?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She is making everybody else ill about the place, I know that,&rsquo;
+said Madame Voss.&nbsp; &lsquo;And as for you, George, you owe a different
+kind of treatment to your father; you do indeed.&nbsp; It will make
+an old man of him.&nbsp; He has set his heart upon this, and you ought
+to have yielded.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+It was at any rate evident that Marie was holding out, was true to her
+first love, in spite of that betrothal which had appeared to George
+to be so wicked, but which had in truth been caused by his own fault.&nbsp;
+If Marie would hold out, there would be no need that he should lay violent
+hands upon Adrian Urmand, or have resort to any process of choking.&nbsp;
+If she would only be firm, they could not succeed in making her marry
+the linen-merchant.&nbsp; He was not in the least afraid of M. le Cur&eacute;
+Gondin; nor was he afraid of Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; He was not much afraid
+of Madame Voss.&nbsp; He was afraid only of his father.&nbsp; &lsquo;A
+man cannot yield on such a matter,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp; &lsquo;No man
+yields in such an affair, - though he may be beaten.&rsquo;&nbsp; Madame
+Voss listened to him, but said nothing farther.&nbsp; She was busy with
+her work, and went on intently with her needle.<br>
+<br>
+He had asked to see Urmand, and he now went out in quest of him.&nbsp;
+He passed across the court, and in at the door of the caf&eacute;, and
+up into the billiard-room.&nbsp; Here he found both his father and the
+young man.&nbsp; Urmand got up to salute him, and George took off his
+hat.&nbsp; Nothing could be more ceremonious than the manner in which
+the two rivals greeted each other.&nbsp; They had not seen each other
+for nearly two years, and had never been intimate.&nbsp; When George
+had been living at Granpere, Urmand had only been an occasional sojourner
+at the inn, and had not as yet fallen into habits of friendship with
+the Voss family.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Have you seen your mother?&rsquo; Michel asked.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; I have seen her.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then there was silence for
+awhile.&nbsp; Urmand knew not how to speak, and George was doubtful
+how to proceed in presence of his father.<br>
+<br>
+Then Michel asked another question.&nbsp; &lsquo;Are you going to stay
+long with us, George?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Certainly not long, father.&nbsp; I have brought nothing with
+me but what you see.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You have brought too much, if you have come to give us trouble.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then there was another pause, during which George sat down in a corner,
+apart from them.&nbsp; Urmand took out a cigar and lit it, offering
+one to the innkeeper.&nbsp; But Michel Voss shook his head.&nbsp; He
+was very unhappy, feeling that everything around him was wrong.&nbsp;
+Here was a son of his, of whom he was proud, the only living child of
+his first wife, a young man of whom all people said good things; a son
+whom he had always loved and trusted, and who even now, at this very
+moment, was showing himself to be a real man; and yet he was forced
+to quarrel with this son, and say harsh things to him, and sit away
+from him with a man who was after all no more than a stranger to him,
+with whom he had no sympathy; when it would have made him so happy to
+be leaning on his son&rsquo;s shoulder, and discussing their joint affairs
+with unreserved confidence, asking questions about wages, and suggesting
+possible profits.&nbsp; He was beginning to hate Adrian Urmand.&nbsp;
+He was beginning to hate the young man, although he knew that it was
+his duty to go on with the marriage.&nbsp; Urmand, as soon as his cigar
+was lighted, got up and began to knock the balls about on the table.&nbsp;
+That gloom of silence was to him most painful.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If you would not mind it, M. Urmand,&rsquo; said George, &lsquo;I
+should like to take a walk with you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;To take a walk?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If it would not be disagreeable.&nbsp; Perhaps it would be well
+that you and I should have a few minutes of conversation.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I will leave you together here,&rsquo; said the father, &lsquo;if
+you, George, will promise me that there shall be no violence.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Urmand looked at the innkeeper as though he did not like the proposition,
+but Michel took no notice of his look.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;There certainly shall be none on my part,&rsquo; said George.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know what M. Urmand&rsquo;s feelings may be.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O dear, no; nothing of the kind,&rsquo; said Urmand.&nbsp; &lsquo;But
+I don&rsquo;t exactly see what we are to talk about.&rsquo;&nbsp; Michel,
+however, paid no attention to this, but walked slowly out of the room.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;I really don&rsquo;t know what there is to say,&rsquo; continued
+Urmand, as he knocked the balls about with his cue.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;There is this to say.&nbsp; That girl up there was induced to
+promise that she would be your wife, when she believed that - I had
+forgotten her.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O dear, no; nothing of the kind.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That is her story.&nbsp; Go and ask her.&nbsp; If it is so, or
+even if it suits her now to say so, you will hardly, as a man, endeavour
+to drive her into a marriage which she does not wish.&nbsp; You will
+never do it, even if you do try.&nbsp; Though you go on trying till
+you drive her mad, she will never be your wife.&nbsp; But if you are
+a man, you will not continue to torment her, simply because you have
+got her uncle to back you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Who says she will never marry me?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I say so.&nbsp; She says so.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;We are betrothed to each other.&nbsp; Why should she not marry
+me?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Simply because she does not wish it.&nbsp; She does not love
+you.&nbsp; Is not that enough?&nbsp; She does love another man; me -
+me - me.&nbsp; Is not that enough?&nbsp; Heaven and earth! I would sooner
+go to the galleys, or break stones upon the roads, than take a woman
+to my bosom who was thinking of some other man.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That is all very fine.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Let me tell you, that the other thing, that which you propose
+to do, is by no means fine.&nbsp; But I will not quarrel with you, if
+I can help it.&nbsp; Will you go away and leave us at peace?&nbsp; They
+say you are rich and have a grand house.&nbsp; Surely you can do better
+than marry a poor innkeeper&rsquo;s niece - a girl that has worked hard
+all her life?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I could do better if I chose,&rsquo; said Adrian Urmand.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Then go and do better.&nbsp; Do you not perceive that even my
+father is becoming tired of all the trouble you are making?&nbsp; Surely
+you will not wait till you are turned out of the house?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Who will turn me out of the house?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Marie will, and my father.&nbsp; Do you think he&rsquo;ll see
+her wither and droop and die, or perhaps go mad, in order that a promise
+may be kept to you?&nbsp; Take the matter into your own hands at once,
+and say you will have no more to do with it.&nbsp; That will be the
+manly way.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Is that all you have to say, my friend?&rsquo; asked Urmand,
+assuming a voice that was intended to be indifferent.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes - that is all.&nbsp; But I mean to do something more, if
+I am driven to it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Very well.&nbsp; When I want advice from you, I will come to
+you for it.&nbsp; And as for your doing, I believe you are not master
+here as yet.&nbsp; Good-morning.&rsquo;&nbsp; So saying, Adrian Urmand
+left the room, and George Voss in a few minutes followed him down the
+stairs.<br>
+<br>
+The rest of the day was passed in gloom and wretchedness.&nbsp; George
+hardly spoke to his father; but the two sat at table together, and there
+was no open quarrel between them.&nbsp; Urmand also sat with them, and
+tried to converse with Michel and Madame Voss.&nbsp; But Michel would
+say very little to him; and the mistress of the house was so cowed by
+the circumstances of the day, that she was hardly able to talk.&nbsp;
+Marie still kept her room; and it was stated to them that she was not
+well and was in bed.&nbsp; Her uncle had gone to see her twice, but
+had made no report to any one of what had passed between them.<br>
+<br>
+It had come to be understood that George would sleep there, at any rate
+for that night, and a bed had been prepared for him.&nbsp; The party
+broke up very early, for there was nothing in common among them to keep
+them together.&nbsp; Madame Voss sat murmuring with the priest for half
+an hour or so; but it seemed that the gloom attendant upon the young
+lovers had settled also upon M. le Cur&eacute;.&nbsp; Even he escaped
+as early as he could.<br>
+<br>
+When George was about to undress himself there came a knock at his door,
+and one of the servant-girls put into his hand a scrap of paper.&nbsp;
+On it was written, &lsquo;I will never marry him, never - never - never;
+upon my honour!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XIX.<br>
+<br>
+Michel Voss at this time was a very unhappy man.&nbsp; He had taught
+himself to believe that it would be a good thing that his niece should
+marry Adrian Urmand, and that it was his duty to achieve this good thing
+in her behalf.&nbsp; He had had it on his mind for the last year, and
+had nearly brought it to pass.&nbsp; There was, moreover, now, at this
+present moment, a clear duty on him to be true to the young man who
+with his consent, and indeed very much at his instance, had become betrothed
+to Marie Bromar.&nbsp; The reader will understand how ideas of duty,
+not very clearly looked into or analysed, acted upon his mind.&nbsp;
+And then there was always present to him a recurrence of that early
+caution which had made him lay a parental embargo upon anything like
+love between his son and his wife&rsquo;s niece.&nbsp; Without much
+thinking about it, - for he probably never thought very much about anything,
+- he had deemed it prudent to separate two young people brought up together,
+when they began, as he fancied, to be foolish.&nbsp; An elderly man
+is so apt to look upon his own son as a boy, and on a girl who has grown
+up under his nose as little more than a child!&nbsp; And then George
+in those days had had no business of his own, and should not have thought
+of such a thing!&nbsp; In this way the mind of Michel Voss had been
+forced into strong hostility against the idea of a marriage between
+Marie and his son, and had filled itself with the spirit of a partisan
+on the side of Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; But now, as things had gone, he
+had been made very unhappy by the state of his own mind, and consequently
+was beginning to feel a great dislike for the merchant from Basle.&nbsp;
+The stupid mean little fellow, with his white pocket-handkerchief, and
+his scent, and his black greasy hair, had made his way into the house
+and had destroyed all comfort and pleasure!&nbsp; That was the light
+in which Michel was now disposed to regard his previously honoured guest.&nbsp;
+When he made a comparison between Adrian and George, he could not but
+acknowledge that any girl of spirit and sense would prefer his son.&nbsp;
+He was very proud of his son, - proud even of the lad&rsquo;s disobedience
+to himself on such a subject; and this feeling added to his discomfort.<br>
+<br>
+He had twice seen Marie in her bed during that day spoken of in the
+last chapter.&nbsp; On both occasions he had meant to be very firm;
+but it was not easy for such a one as Michel Voss to be firm to a young
+woman in her night-cap, rather pale, whose eyes were red with weeping.&nbsp;
+A woman in bed was to him always an object of tenderness, and a woman
+in tears, as his wife well knew, could on most occasions get the better
+of him.&nbsp; When he first saw Marie, he merely told her to lie still
+and take a little broth.&nbsp; He kissed her however and patted her
+cheek, and then got out of the room as quickly as he could.&nbsp; He
+knew his own weakness, and was afraid to trust himself to her prayers
+while she lay before him in that guise.&nbsp; When he went again, he
+had been unable not to listen to a word or two which she had prepared,
+and had ready for instant speech.&nbsp; &lsquo;Uncle Michel,&rsquo;
+she said, &lsquo;I will never marry any one without your leave, if you
+will let M. Urmand go away.&rsquo;&nbsp; He had almost come to wish
+by this time that M. Urmand would go away and never come back again.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;How am I to send him away?&rsquo; he had said crossly.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;If you tell him, I know he will go, - at once,&rsquo; said Marie.&nbsp;
+Michel had muttered something about Marie&rsquo;s illness and the impossibility
+of doing anything at present, and again had left the room.&nbsp; Then
+Marie began to take heart of grace, and to think that victory might
+yet be on her side.&nbsp; But how was George to know that she was firmly
+determined to throw those odious betrothals to the wind?&nbsp; Feeling
+it to be absolutely incumbent on her to convey to him this knowledge,
+she wrote the few words which the servant conveyed to her lover, - making
+no promise in regard to him, but simply assuring him that she would
+never, - never, - never become the wife of that other man.<br>
+<br>
+Early on the following morning Michel Voss went off by himself.&nbsp;
+He could not stay in bed, and he could not hang about the house.&nbsp;
+He did not know how to demean himself to either of the young men when
+he met them.&nbsp; He could not be cordial as he ought to be with Urmand;
+nor could he be austere to George with that austerity which he felt
+would have been proper on his part.&nbsp; He was becoming very tired
+of his dignity and authority.&nbsp; Hitherto the exercise of power in
+his household had generally been easy enough, his wife and Marie had
+always been loving and pleasant in their obedience.&nbsp; Till within
+these last weeks there had even been the most perfect accordance between
+him and his niece.&nbsp; &lsquo;Send him away; - that&rsquo;s very easily
+said,&rsquo; he muttered to himself as he went up towards the mountains;
+&lsquo;but he has got my engagement, and of course he&rsquo;ll hold
+me to it.&rsquo;&nbsp; He trudged on, he hardly knew whither.&nbsp;
+He was so unhappy, that the mills and the timber-cutting were nothing
+to him.&nbsp; When he had walked himself into a heat, he sat down and
+took out his pipe, but he smoked more by habit than for enjoyment.&nbsp;
+Supposing that he did bring himself to change his mind, - which he did
+not think he ever would, - how could he break the matter to Urmand?&nbsp;
+He told himself that he was sure he would not change his mind, because
+of his solemn engagement to the young man; but he did acknowledge that
+the young man was not what he had taken him to be.&nbsp; He was effeminate,
+and wanted spirit, and smelt of hair-grease.&nbsp; Michel had discovered
+none of these defects, - had perhaps regarded the characteristics as
+meritorious rather than otherwise, - while he had been hotly in favour
+of the marriage.&nbsp; Then the hair-grease and the rest of it had in
+his eyes simply been signs of the civilisation of the town as contrasted
+with the rusticity of the country.&nbsp; It was then a great thing in
+his eyes that Marie should marry a man so polished, though much of the
+polish may have come from pomade.&nbsp; Now his ideas were altered,
+and, as he sat alone upon the log, he continued to turn up his nose
+at poor M. Urmand.&nbsp; But how was he to be rid of him, - and, if
+not of him, what was he to do then?&nbsp; Was he to let all authority
+go by the board, and allow the two young people to marry, although the
+whole village heard how he had pledged himself in this matter?<br>
+<br>
+As he was sitting there, suddenly his son came upon him.&nbsp; He frowned
+and went on smoking, though at heart he felt grateful to George for
+having found him out and followed him.&nbsp; He was altogether tired
+of being alone, or, worse than that, of being left together with Adrian
+Urmand.&nbsp; But the overtures for a general reconciliation could not
+come first from him, nor could any be entertained without at least some
+show of obedience.&nbsp; &lsquo;I thought I should find you up here,&rsquo;
+said George.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And now you have found me, what of that?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I fancy we can talk better, father, up among the woods, than
+we can down there when that young man is hanging about.&nbsp; We always
+used to have a chat up here, you know.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It was different then,&rsquo; said Michel.&nbsp; &lsquo;That
+was before you had learned to think it a fine thing to be your own master
+and to oppose me in everything.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I have never opposed you but in one thing, father.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Ah, yes; in one thing.&nbsp; But that one thing is everything.&nbsp;
+Here I&rsquo;ve been doing the best I could for both of you, striving
+to put you upon your legs, and make you a man and her a woman, and this
+is the return I get!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But what would you have had me do?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What would I have had you do?&nbsp; Not come here and oppose
+me in everything.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But when this Adrian Urmand - &rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I am sick of Adrian Urmand,&rsquo; said Michel Voss.&nbsp; George
+raised his eyebrows and stared.&nbsp; &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t mean that,&rsquo;
+said he; &lsquo;but I am beginning to hate the very sight of the man.&nbsp;
+If he&rsquo;d had the pluck of a wren, he would have carried her off
+long ago.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t know how that may be, but he hasn&rsquo;t done
+it yet.&nbsp; Come, father; you don&rsquo;t like the man any more than
+she does.&nbsp; If you get tired of him in three days, what would she
+do in her whole life?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why did she accept him, then?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Perhaps, father, we were all to blame a little in that.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I was not to blame - not in the least.&nbsp; I won&rsquo;t admit
+it.&nbsp; I did the best I could for her.&nbsp; She accepted him, and
+they are betrothed.&nbsp; The Cur&eacute; down there says it&rsquo;s
+nearly as good as being married.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Who cares what Father Gondin says?&rsquo; asked George.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I&rsquo;m sure I don&rsquo;t,&rsquo; said Michel Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;The betrothal means nothing, father, if either of them choose
+to change their minds.&nbsp; There was that girl over at Saint Die.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t tell me of the girl at Saint Die.&nbsp; I&rsquo;m
+sick of hearing of the girl at Saint Die.&nbsp; What the mischief is
+the girl at Saint Die to us?&nbsp; We&rsquo;ve got to do our duty if
+we can, like honest men and women; and not follow vagaries learned from
+Saint Die.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+The two men walked down the hill together, reaching the hotel about
+noon.&nbsp; Long before that time the innkeeper had fallen into a way
+of acknowledging that Adrian Urmand was an incubus; but he had not as
+yet quite admitted that there was any way of getting rid of the incubus.&nbsp;
+The idea of having the marriage on the 1st of the present month was
+altogether abandoned, and Michel had already asked how they might manage
+among them to send Adrian Urmand back to Basle.&nbsp; &lsquo;He must
+come again, if he chooses,&rsquo; he had said; &lsquo;but I suppose
+he had better go now.&nbsp; Marie is ill, and she mustn&rsquo;t be worried.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+George proposed that his father should tell this to Urmand himself;
+but it seemed that Michel, who had never yet been known to be afraid
+of any man, was in some degree afraid of the little Swiss merchant.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Suppose my mother says a word to him,&rsquo; suggested George.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She wouldn&rsquo;t dare for her life,&rsquo; answered the father.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I would do it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No, indeed, George; you shall do no such thing.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then George suggested the priest; but nothing had been settled when
+they reached the inn-door.&nbsp; There he was, swinging a cane at the
+foot of the billiard-room stairs - the little bug-a-boo, who was now
+so much in the way of all of them!&nbsp; The innkeeper muttered some
+salutation, and George just touched his hat.&nbsp; Then they both passed
+on, and went into the house.<br>
+<br>
+Unfortunately the plea of Marie&rsquo;s illness was in part cut from
+under their feet by the appearance of Marie herself.&nbsp; George, who
+had not as yet seen her, went up quickly to her, and, without saying
+a word, took her by the hand and held it.&nbsp; Marie murmured some
+pretence at a salutation, but what she said was heard by no one.&nbsp;
+When her uncle came to her and kissed her, her hand was still grasped
+in that of George.&nbsp; All this had taken place in the passage; and
+before Michel&rsquo;s embrace was over, Adrian Urmand was standing in
+the doorway looking on.&nbsp; George, when he saw him, held tighter
+by the hand, and Marie made no attempt to draw it away.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What is the meaning of all this?&rsquo; said Urmand, coming up.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Meaning of what?&rsquo; asked Michel.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t understand it - I don&rsquo;t understand it at
+all,&rsquo; said Urmand.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t understand what?&rsquo; said Michel.&nbsp; The two
+lovers were still holding each other&rsquo;s hands; but Michel had not
+seen it; or, seeing it, had not observed it.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Am I to understand that Marie Bromar is betrothed to me, or not?&rsquo;
+demanded Adrian.&nbsp; &lsquo;When I get an answer either way, I shall
+know what to do.&rsquo;&nbsp; There was in this an assumption of more
+spirit than had been expected on his part by his enemies at the Lion
+d&rsquo;Or.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why shouldn&rsquo;t you be betrothed to her?&rsquo; said Michel.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Of course you are betrothed to her; but I don&rsquo;t see what
+is the use of your talking so much about it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is the first time I have said a word on the subject since
+I&rsquo;ve been here,&rsquo; said Urmand.&nbsp; Which was true; but
+as Michel was continually thinking of the betrothal, he imagined that
+everybody was always talking to him of the matter.&nbsp; Marie had now
+managed to get her hand free, and had retired into the kitchen.&nbsp;
+Michel followed her, and stood meditative, with his back to the large
+stove.&nbsp; As it happened, there was no one else present there at
+the moment.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Tell him to go back to Basle,&rsquo; whispered Marie to her uncle.&nbsp;
+Michel only shook his head and groaned.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think I am at all well-treated here among you,&rsquo;
+said Adrian Urmand to George as soon as they were alone.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Any special friendship from me you can hardly expect,&rsquo;
+said George.&nbsp; &lsquo;As to my father and the rest of them, if they
+ill-treat you, I suppose you had better leave them.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I won&rsquo;t put up with ill-treatment from anybody.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s
+not what I&rsquo;m used to.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Look here, M. Urmand,&rsquo; said George.&nbsp; &lsquo;I quite
+admit you have been badly used; and, on the part of the family, I am
+ready to apologise.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t want any apology.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What do you want, M. Urmand?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I want - I want - Never mind what I want.&nbsp; It is from your
+father that I shall demand it, not from you.&nbsp; I shall take care
+to see myself righted.&nbsp; I know the French law as well as the Swiss.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If you&rsquo;re talking of law, you had better go back to Basle
+and get a lawyer,&rsquo; said George.<br>
+<br>
+There had been no word spoken of George returning to Colmar on that
+morning.&nbsp; He had told his father that he had brought nothing with
+him but what he had on; and in truth when he left Colmar he had not
+looked forward to any welcome which would induce him to remain at Granpere.&nbsp;
+But the course of things had been different from that which he had expected.&nbsp;
+He was much too good a general to think of returning now, and he had
+friends in the house who knew how to supply him with what was most necessary
+to him.&nbsp; Nobody had asked him to stay.&nbsp; His father had not
+uttered a word of welcome.&nbsp; But he did stay, and Michel would have
+been very much surprised indeed if he had heard that he had gone.&nbsp;
+The man in the stable had ventured to suggest that the old mare would
+not be wanted to go over the mountain that day.&nbsp; To this George
+assented, and made special request that the old mare might receive gentle
+treatment.<br>
+<br>
+And so the day passed away.&nbsp; Marie, who had recovered her health,
+was busy as usual about the house.&nbsp; George and Urmand, though they
+did not associate, were rarely long out of each other&rsquo;s sight;
+and neither the one nor the other found much opportunity for pressing
+his suit.&nbsp; George probably felt that there was not much need to
+do so, and Urmand must have known that any pressing of his suit in the
+ordinary way would be of no avail.&nbsp; The innkeeper tried to make
+work for himself about the place, had the carriages out and washed,
+inspected the horses, and gave orders as to the future slaughter of
+certain pigs.&nbsp; Everybody about the house, nevertheless, down to
+the smallest boy attached to the inn, knew that the landlord&rsquo;s
+mind was pre-occupied with the love affairs of those two men.&nbsp;
+There was hardly an inhabitant of Granpere who did not understand what
+was going on; and, had it been the custom of the place to make bets
+on such matters, very long odds would have been wanted before any one
+would have backed Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; And yet two days ago he was considered
+to be sure of the prize.&nbsp; M. le Cur&eacute; Gondin was a good deal
+at the hotel during the day, and perhaps he was the stanchest supporter
+of the Swiss aspirant.&nbsp; He endeavoured to support Madame Voss,
+having that strong dislike to yield an inch in practice or in doctrine,
+which is indicative of his order.&nbsp; He strove hard to make Madame
+Voss understand that if only she would be firm and cause her husband
+to be firm also, Marie would, of course, yield at last.&nbsp; &lsquo;I
+have ever so many young women just in the same way,&rsquo; said the
+Cur&eacute;, &lsquo;and you would have thought they were going to break
+their hearts; but as soon as ever they have been married, they have
+forgotten all that.&rsquo;&nbsp; Madame Voss would have been quite contented
+to comply with the priest&rsquo;s counsel, could she have seen the way
+with her husband.&nbsp; But it had become almost manifest even to her,
+with the Cur&eacute; to support her, that the star of Adrian Urmand
+was on the wane.&nbsp; She felt from every word that Marie spoke to
+her, that Marie herself was confident of success.&nbsp; And it may be
+said of Madame Voss, that although she had been forced by Michel into
+a kind of enthusiasm on behalf of the Swiss marriage, she had no very
+eager wishes of her own on the subject.&nbsp; Marie was her own niece,
+and was dear to her; but the girl was sure of a well-to-do husband whichever
+way the war went; and what aunt need desire more for her most favourite
+niece than a well-to-do husband?<br>
+<br>
+The day went by, and the supper was eaten, and the cigars were smoked,
+and then they all went to bed.&nbsp; But nothing more had been settled.&nbsp;
+That obstinate young man, M. Adrian Urmand, though he had talked of
+his lawyer, had said not a word of going back to Basle.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XX.<br>
+<br>
+It is probable that all those concerned in the matter who slept at the
+Lion d&rsquo;Or that night, made up their minds that on the following
+day the powers of the establishment must come to some decision.&nbsp;
+It was not right that a young woman should have to live in the house
+with two favoured lovers; nor, as regarded the young men, was it right
+that they should be allowed to go on glaring at each other.&nbsp; Both
+Michel and Madame Voss feared that they would do more than glare, seeing
+that they were so like two dogs with one bone between them, who, in
+such an emergency, will generally fight.&nbsp; Urmand himself was quite
+alive to the necessity of putting an end to his present exceptionally
+disagreeable position.&nbsp; He was very angry; very angry naturally
+with Marie, who had, he thought, treated him villainously.&nbsp; Why
+had she made that little soft, languid promise to him when he was last
+at Granpere, if she had not then loved him?&nbsp; And of course he was
+angry with George Voss.&nbsp; What unsuccessful lover fails of being
+angry with his happy rival?&nbsp; And then George had behaved with outrageous
+impropriety.&nbsp; Urmand was beginning now to have a clear insight
+of the circumstances.&nbsp; George and Marie had been lovers, and then
+George, having been sent away, had forgotten his love for a year or
+more.&nbsp; But when the girl had been accommodated with another lover,
+then he thrust himself forward and disturbed everybody&rsquo;s arrangements!&nbsp;
+No conduct could have been worse than this.&nbsp; But, nevertheless,
+Urmand&rsquo;s anger was the hottest against Michel Voss himself.&nbsp;
+Had he been left alone at Basle, had he been allowed to receive Marie&rsquo;s
+letter, and act upon it in accordance with his own judgment, he would
+never have made himself ridiculous by appearing at Granpere as a discomfited
+lover.&nbsp; But the innkeeper had come and dragged him away from home,
+had misrepresented everything, had carried him away, as it were, by
+force to the scene of his disgrace, and now - threw him over!&nbsp;
+He, at any rate, he, Michel Voss, should, as Adrian Urmand felt very
+bitterly, have been true and constant; but Michel, whose face could
+not lie, whatever his words might do, was clearly as anxious to be rid
+of his young friend as were any of the others in the hotel.&nbsp; Urmand
+himself would have been very glad to be back at Basle.&nbsp; He had
+come to regard any farther connection with the inn at Granpere as extremely
+undesirable.&nbsp; The Voss family was low.&nbsp; He had found that
+out during his present visit.&nbsp; But how was he to get away, and
+not look, as he was going, like a dog with his tail between his legs?&nbsp;
+He had so clear a right to demand Marie&rsquo;s hand, that he could
+not bring himself to bear to be robbed of his claim.&nbsp; And yet he
+had come to perceive how very foolish such a marriage would be.&nbsp;
+He had been told that he could do better.&nbsp; Of course he could do
+better.&nbsp; But how could he be rid of his bargain without submitting
+to ill-treatment?&nbsp; If Michel had not come and fetched him away
+from his home the ill-treatment would have been by comparison slight,
+and of that normal kind to which young men are accustomed.&nbsp; But
+to be brought over to the house, and then to be deserted by everybody
+in the house!&nbsp; How, O how, was he to get out of the house?&nbsp;
+Such were his reflections as he sat solitary in the long public room
+drinking his coffee, and eating an omelet, with which Peter Veque had
+supplied him, but which had in truth been cooked for him very carefully
+by Marie Bromar herself.&nbsp; In her present frame of mind Marie would
+have cooked ortolans for him had he wished for them.<br>
+<br>
+And while Urmand was eating his omelet and thinking of his wrongs, Michel
+Voss and his son were standing together at the stable door.&nbsp; Michel
+had been there some time before his son had joined him, and when George
+came up to him he put out his hand almost furtively.&nbsp; George grasped
+it instantly, and then there came a tear into the innkeeper&rsquo;s
+eye.&nbsp; &lsquo;I have brought you a little of that tobacco we were
+talking of,&rsquo; said George, taking a small packet out of his pocket.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Thank ye, George; thank ye; but it does not much matter now what
+I smoke.&nbsp; Things are going wrong, and I don&rsquo;t get satisfaction
+out of anything.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t say that, father.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;How can I help saying it?&nbsp; Look at that fellow up there.&nbsp;
+What am I to do with him?&nbsp; What am I to say to him?&nbsp; He means
+to stay there till he gets his wife.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He&rsquo;ll never get a wife here, if he stays till the house
+falls on him.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I can see that now.&nbsp; But what am I to say to him?&nbsp;
+How am I to get rid of him?&nbsp; There is no denying, you know, that
+he has been treated badly among us.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Would he take a little money, father?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s not so bad as that.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I should not have thought so; only he talked to me about his
+lawyer.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Ah; - he did that in his anger.&nbsp; By George, if I was in
+his position I should try and raise the very devil.&nbsp; But don&rsquo;t
+talk of giving him money, George.&nbsp; He&rsquo;s not bad in that way.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;He shouldn&rsquo;t have said anything about his lawyer.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You wait till you&rsquo;re placed as he is, and you&rsquo;ll
+find that you&rsquo;ll say anything that comes uppermost.&nbsp; But
+what are we to do with him, George?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then the matter was discussed in the utmost confidence, and in all its
+bearings.&nbsp; George offered to have a carriage and pair of horses
+got ready for Remiremont, and then to tell the young man that he was
+expected to get into it, and go away; but Michel felt that there must
+be some more ceremonious treatment than that.&nbsp; George then suggested
+that the Cur&eacute; should give the message, but Michel again objected.&nbsp;
+The message, he felt, must be given by himself.&nbsp; The doing this
+would be very bitter to him, because it would be necessary that he should
+humble himself before the scented shiny head of the little man: but
+Michel knew that it must be so.&nbsp; Urmand had been undoubtedly ill-treated
+among them, and the apology for that ill-treatment must be made by the
+chief of the family himself.&nbsp; &lsquo;I suppose I might as well
+go to him alone,&rsquo; said Michel, groaning.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well, yes; I should say so,&rsquo; replied his son.&nbsp; &lsquo;Soonest
+begun, soonest over; - and I suppose I might as well order the horses.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+To this latter suggestion the father made no reply, but went slowly
+into the house.&nbsp; He turned for a moment into Marie&rsquo;s little
+office, and stood there hesitating whether he would tell her his mission.&nbsp;
+As she was to be made happy, why should she not know it?<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;You two have got the better of me among you,&rsquo; he said.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Which two, Uncle Michel?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Which two?&nbsp; Why, you and George.&nbsp; And what I&rsquo;m
+to do with the gentleman upstairs, it passes me to think.&nbsp; Thank
+heaven, it will be a great many years before Flos wants a husband.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Flos was the little daughter up-stairs, who was as yet no more than
+five years old.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I hope, Uncle Michel, you&rsquo;ll never have anybody else as
+naughty and troublesome as I have been,&rsquo; said Marie, pressing
+close to him.&nbsp; She was indescribably happy.&nbsp; She was to be
+saved from the lover whom she did not want.&nbsp; She was to have the
+lover whom she did want.&nbsp; And, over and above all this, a spirit
+of kind feeling and full sympathy existed once more between her and
+her dear friend.&nbsp; As she offered no advice in regard to the disposal
+of the gentleman up-stairs, Michel was obliged to go upon his painful
+duty, trusting to his own wit.<br>
+<br>
+In the long room up-stairs he found Adrian Urmand sitting at the closed
+window, looking out at the ducks who were paddling in a temporary pool
+made by the late rains.&nbsp; He had been painfully in want of something
+to do, - so much so that he had more than once almost resolved to put
+his things into his bag, and leave the house without saying a word of
+farewell to any one.&nbsp; Had there been any means for him to escape
+from Granpere without saying a word, he would have done so.&nbsp; But
+at Granpere there was no railway, and the only public conveyance in
+and out of the place started from the door of the Lion d&rsquo;Or; started
+every morning, with much ceremony, so that it was impossible for him
+to fly unobserved.&nbsp; There he was, watching the ducks, when Michel
+entered the room, and very much disposed to quarrel with any one who
+approached him.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I&rsquo;m afraid you find it rather dull here,&rsquo; said Michel,
+beginning the conversation.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It is dull; very dull indeed.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;That is the worst of it.&nbsp; We are dull people here in the
+country.&nbsp; We have not the distractions which you town folk can
+always find.&nbsp; There&rsquo;s not much to do, and nothing to look
+at.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Very little to look at, that&rsquo;s worth the trouble of looking,&rsquo;
+said Urmand.<br>
+<br>
+There was a malignity of satire intended in this; for the young man
+in his wrath, and with a full conviction of what was coming upon him,
+had intended to include his betrothed in the catalogue of things of
+Granpere not worthy of inspection.&nbsp; But Michel Voss did not at
+all follow him so far as that.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I never saw such a place,&rsquo; continued Urmand.&nbsp; &lsquo;There
+isn&rsquo;t a soul even to play a game of billiards with.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Now Michel Voss, although for a purpose he had been willing to make
+little of his own village, did in truth consider that Granpere was at
+any rate as good a place to live in as Basle.&nbsp; And he felt that
+though he might abuse Granpere, it was very uncourteous in Adrian Urmand
+to do so.&nbsp; &lsquo;I don&rsquo;t think much of playing billiards
+in the morning, I must own,&rsquo; said he.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I daresay not,&rsquo; said Urmand, still looking at the ducks.<br>
+<br>
+Michel had made no progress as yet, so he sat down and scratched his
+head.&nbsp; The more he thought of it, the larger the difficulty seemed
+to be.&nbsp; He was quite aware now that it was his own unfortunate
+journey to Basle which had brought so heavy a burden on him.&nbsp; It
+was as yet no more than three or four days since he had taken upon himself
+to assure the young man that he, by his own authority, would make everything
+right; and now he was forced to acknowledge that everything was wrong.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;M. Urmand,&rsquo; he said at last, &lsquo;it has been a very
+great grief to me, a very great grief indeed, that you should have found
+things so uncomfortable.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What things do you mean?&rsquo; said Urmand.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well - everything - about Marie, you know.&nbsp; When I went
+over to Basle the other day, I didn&rsquo;t think how it was going to
+turn out.&nbsp; I didn&rsquo;t indeed.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And how is it going to turn out?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I can&rsquo;t make the young woman consent, you know,&rsquo;
+said the innkeeper.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Let me tell you, M. Voss, that I wouldn&rsquo;t have the young
+woman, as you call her, if she consented ever so much.&nbsp; She has
+disgraced me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+To this Michel listened with perfect equanimity.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;She has disgraced you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+At hearing this Michel bit his lips, telling himself, however, that
+there had been mistakes made, and that he was bound to bear a good deal.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And she has disgraced herself,&rsquo; said Adrian Urmand, with
+all the emphasis that he had at command.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I deny it,&rsquo; said Marie&rsquo;s uncle, coming close up to
+his opponent, and standing before him.&nbsp; &lsquo;I deny it.&nbsp;
+It is not true.&nbsp; That shall not be said in my hearing, even by
+you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But I do say it.&nbsp; She has disgraced herself.&nbsp; Did she
+not give me her troth, when all the time she intended to marry another
+man?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No!&nbsp; She did nothing of the kind.&nbsp; And look here, my
+friend, if you wish to be treated like a man in this house, you had
+better not say anything against any of the women who live in it.&nbsp;
+You may abuse me as much as you please, - and George too, if it will
+do you any good.&nbsp; There have been mistakes made, and we owe you
+something.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;By heavens, yes; you do.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;But you sha&rsquo;n&rsquo;t take it out in saying anything against
+Marie Bromar, - not in my hearing.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Why; - what will you do?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t drive me to do anything, M. Urmand.&nbsp; If there
+is any compensation possible - &rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Of course there must be compensation.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What is it you will take?&nbsp; Is it money?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Money; - no.&nbsp; As for money, I&rsquo;m better off than any
+of you.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What is it, then?&nbsp; You don&rsquo;t want the girl herself?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;No; - certainly not.&nbsp; I would not take her if she came and
+knelt to me.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;What can we do, then?&nbsp; If you will only say.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I want - I want - I don&rsquo;t know what I want.&nbsp; I have
+been cruelly ill-used, and made a fool of before everybody.&nbsp; I
+never heard of such a case before; - never.&nbsp; And I have been so
+generous and honest to you!&nbsp; I did not ask for a franc of <i>dot</i>;
+and now you come and offer me money.&nbsp; I don&rsquo;t think any man
+ever was so badly used anywhere.&rsquo;&nbsp; And on saying this Adrian
+Urmand in very truth burst into tears.<br>
+<br>
+The innkeeper&rsquo;s heart was melted at once.&nbsp; It was all so
+true!&nbsp; Between them they had treated him very badly.&nbsp; But
+then there had been so many unfortunate and unavoidable mistakes!&nbsp;
+When the young man talked of compensation, what was Michel Voss to think?&nbsp;
+His son had been led into exactly the same error.&nbsp; Nevertheless,
+he repented himself bitterly in that he had said anything about money,
+and was prepared to make the most abject apologies.&nbsp; Adrian Urmand
+had fallen into a chair, and Michel Voss came and seated himself close
+beside him.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I beg your pardon, Urmand; I do indeed.&nbsp; I ought not to
+have mentioned money.&nbsp; But when you spoke of compensation - &rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It wasn&rsquo;t that.&nbsp; It wasn&rsquo;t that.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s
+my feelings!&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Then the white cambric handkerchief was taken out and used with considerable
+vehemence.<br>
+<br>
+From that moment the innkeeper&rsquo;s goodwill towards Urmand returned,
+though of course he was quite aware that there was no place for him
+in that family.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If there is anything I can do, I will do it,&rsquo; said Michel
+piteously.&nbsp; &lsquo;It has been unfortunate.&nbsp; I know it has
+been very unfortunate.&nbsp; But we didn&rsquo;t mean to be untrue.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If you had only left me alone when I was at home?&rsquo; said
+the unfortunate young man, who was still sobbing bitterly.<br>
+<br>
+They two remained in the long room together for a considerable time,
+during all of which Michel Voss was as gentle as though Urmand had been
+a child.&nbsp; Nor did the poor rejected lover again have recourse to
+any violence of abuse, though he would over and over again repeat his
+opinion that surely, since lovers were first known in the world, and
+betrothals of marriage first made, no one had ever been so ill-used
+as was he.&nbsp; It soon became clear to Michel that his great grief
+did not come from the loss of his wife, but from the feeling that everybody
+would know that he had been ill-used.&nbsp; There wasn&rsquo;t a shopkeeper
+in his own town, he said, who hadn&rsquo;t heard of his approaching
+marriage.&nbsp; And what was he to say when he went back?<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Just say that you found us so rough and rustic,&rsquo; said Michel
+Voss.<br>
+<br>
+But Urmand knew well that no such saying on his part would be believed.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I think I shall go to Lyons,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;and stay
+there for six months.&nbsp; What&rsquo;s the business to me?&nbsp; I
+don&rsquo;t care for the business.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+There they sat all the morning.&nbsp; Two or three times Peter Veque
+opened the door, peeped in at them, and then brought down word that
+the conference was still going on.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;The master is sitting just over him like,&rsquo; said Peter,
+&lsquo;and they&rsquo;re as close and loving as birds.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+Marie listened, and said not a word to any one.&nbsp; George had made
+two or three little attempts during the morning to entice her into some
+lover-like privacy.&nbsp; But Marie would not be enticed.&nbsp; The
+man to whom she was betrothed was still in the house; and, though she
+was quite secure that the betrothals would now be absolutely annulled,
+still she would not actually entertain another lover till this was done.<br>
+<br>
+At length the door of the long room was opened, and the two men came
+out.&nbsp; Adrian Urmand, who was the first to be seen in the passage,
+went at once to his bedroom, and then Michel descended to the little
+parlour.&nbsp; Marie was at the moment sitting on her stool of authority
+in the office, from whence she could hear what was said in the parlour.&nbsp;
+Satisfied with this, she did not come down from her seat.&nbsp; In the
+parlour was Madame Voss and the Cur&eacute;, and George, who had seen
+his father from the front door, at once joined them.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well,&rsquo; said Madame Voss, &lsquo;how is it to be?&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I&rsquo;ve arranged that we&rsquo;re to have a little picnic
+up the ravine to-morrow,&rsquo; said Michel.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;A picnic!&rsquo; said the Cur&eacute;.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I&rsquo;m all for a picnic,&rsquo; said George.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;A picnic!&rsquo; said Madame Voss, &lsquo;and the ground as wet
+as a sop, and the wind from the mountains enough to cut one in two.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Never mind about the wind.&nbsp; We&rsquo;ll take coats and umbrellas.&nbsp;
+It&rsquo;s better to have some kind of an outing, and then he&rsquo;ll
+recover himself.&rsquo;&nbsp; Marie, as she heard all this, made up
+her mind that if any possible store of provisions packed in hampers
+could bring her late lover round to equanimity, no efforts on her part
+should be wanting.&nbsp; She would pack up cold chickens and champagne
+bottles with the greatest pleasure, and would eat her dinner sitting
+on a rock, even though the wind from the mountains should cut her in
+two.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And so it&rsquo;s all to end in a picnic,&rsquo; said M. le Cur&eacute;,
+with evident disgust.<br>
+<br>
+It appeared from Michel&rsquo;s description of what had taken place
+during that very long interview that Adrian Urmand had at last become
+quite gentle and confidential.&nbsp; In what way could he be let down
+the most easily?&nbsp; That was the question for the answering which
+these two heads were kept together in conference so long.&nbsp; How
+could it be made to appear that the betrothal had been annulled by mutual
+consent?&nbsp; At last the happy idea of a picnic occurred to Michel
+himself.&nbsp; &lsquo;I never thought about the time of the year,&rsquo;
+he said; &lsquo;but when friends are here and we want to do our best
+for them, we always take them to the ravine, and have dinners on the
+rocks.&rsquo;&nbsp; It had seemed to him, and as he declared to Urmand
+also, that if something like a jubilee could be got up before the young
+man&rsquo;s departure, it would appear as though there could not have
+been much disappointment.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;We shall all catch our death of cold,&rsquo; said Madame Voss.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;We needn&rsquo;t stay long, you know,&rsquo; said Michel.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;And, Marie,&rsquo; said he, going into the little office in which
+his niece was still seated, &lsquo;Marie, mind you behave yourself.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O, I will, Uncle Michel,&rsquo; she said.&nbsp; &lsquo;You shall
+see.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+CHAPTER XXI.<br>
+<br>
+They all sat down together at supper that evening, Marie dispensing
+her soup as usual before she went to the table.&nbsp; She sat next to
+her uncle on one side, and below her there were vacant seats.&nbsp;
+Urmand took a chair on the left hand of Madame Voss, next to him was
+the Cur&eacute;, and below the Cur&eacute; the happy rival.&nbsp; It
+had all been arranged by Marie herself, with the greatest care.&nbsp;
+Urmand seemed to have got over the worst of his trouble, and when Marie
+came to the table bowed to her graciously.&nbsp; She bowed in return,
+and then eat her soup in silence.&nbsp; Michel Voss overdid his part
+a little by too much talking, but his wife restored the balance by her
+prudence.&nbsp; George told them how strong the French party was at
+Colmar, and explained that the Germans had not a leg to stand upon as
+far as general opinion went.&nbsp; Before the supper was over, Adrian
+Urmand was talking glibly enough; and it really seemed as though the
+terrible misfortunes of the Lion d&rsquo;Or would arrange themselves
+comfortably after all.&nbsp; When supper was done, the father, son,
+and the discarded lover smoked their pipes together amicably in the
+billiard room.&nbsp; There was not a word said then by either of them
+in connection with Marie Bromar.<br>
+<br>
+On the next morning the sun was bright, and the air was as warm as it
+ever is in October.&nbsp; The day, perhaps, might not have been selected
+for an out-of-doors party had there been no special reason for such
+an arrangement; but seeing how strong a reason existed, even Madame
+Voss acknowledged that the morning was favourable.&nbsp; While those
+pipes of peace were being smoked over night, Marie had been preparing
+the hampers.&nbsp; On the next morning nobody except Marie herself was
+very early.&nbsp; It was intended that the day should be got through
+at any rate with a pretence of pleasure, and they were all to be as
+idle, and genteel, and agreeable as possible.&nbsp; It had been settled
+that they should start at twelve.&nbsp; The drive, unfortunately, would
+not consume much more than half an hour.&nbsp; Then what with unpacking,
+climbing about the rocks, and throwing stones down into the river, they
+would get through the time till two.&nbsp; At two they would eat their
+dinner - with all their shawls and greatcoats around them - then smoke
+their cigars, and come back when they found it impossible to drag out
+the day any longer.&nbsp; Marie was not to talk to George, and was to
+be specially courteous to M. Urmand.&nbsp; The two old ladies accompanied
+them, as did also M. le Cur&eacute; Gondin.&nbsp; The programme for
+the day did not seem to be very delightful; but it appeared to Michel
+Voss that in this way, better than in any other, could some little halo
+be thrown over the parting hours of poor Adrian Urmand.<br>
+<br>
+Everything went as well as could have been anticipated.&nbsp; They managed
+to delay their departure till nearly half-past twelve, and were so lost
+in wonder at the quantity of water running down the fall in the ravine,
+that there had hardly been any heaviness of time when they seated themselves
+on the rocks at half-past two.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Now for the business of the day,&rsquo; said Michel, as, standing
+up, he plunged a knife and fork into a large pie which he had placed
+on a boulder before him.&nbsp; &lsquo;Marie has got no soup for us here,
+so we must begin with the solids at once.&rsquo;&nbsp; Soon after that
+one cork might have been heard to fly, and then another, and no stranger
+looking on would have believed how dreadful had been the enmity existing
+on the previous day - or, indeed, how great a cause for enmity there
+had been.&nbsp; Michel himself was very hilarious.&nbsp; If he could
+only obliterate in any way the evil which he had certainly inflicted
+on that unfortunate young man!&nbsp; &lsquo;Urmand, my friend, another
+glass of wine.&nbsp; George, fill our friend Urmand&rsquo;s glass; not
+so quickly, George, not so quickly; you give him nothing but the froth.&nbsp;
+Adrian Urmand, your very good health.&nbsp; May you always be a happy
+and successful man!&rsquo;&nbsp; So saying, Michel Voss drained his
+own tumbler.<br>
+<br>
+Urmand, at the moment, was seated in a niche among the rocks, in which
+a cushion out of the carriage had been placed for his special accommodation.&nbsp;
+Indeed, every comfort and luxury had been showered upon his head to
+compensate him for his lost bride.&nbsp; This was the third time that
+he had been by name invited to drink his wine, and three times he had
+obeyed.&nbsp; Now, feeling himself to be summoned in a very peculiar
+way - feeling also, perhaps, that that which might have made others
+drunk had made him bold, he extricated himself from his niche, and stood
+upon his legs among the rocks.&nbsp; He stood upon his legs among the
+rocks, and with a graceful movement of his arm, waved the glass above
+his head.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;We are delighted to have you here among us, my friend,&rsquo;
+said Michel Voss, who also, perhaps, had been made bold.&nbsp; Madame
+Voss, who was close to her husband, pulled him by the sleeve.&nbsp;
+Then he seated himself, but Adrian Urmand was left standing among them.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;My friend,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;and you, Madame Voss particularly,
+I feel particularly obliged to you for this charming entertainment.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Then the innkeeper cheered his guest, whereupon Madame Voss pulled her
+husband&rsquo;s sleeve harder than before.&nbsp; &lsquo;I am, indeed,&rsquo;
+continued Urmand.&nbsp; &lsquo;The best thing will be,&rsquo; said he,
+&lsquo;to make a clean breast of it at once.&nbsp; You all know why
+I came here, - and you all know how I&rsquo;m going back.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+At this moment his voice faltered a little, and he almost sobbed.&nbsp;
+Both the old ladies immediately put their handkerchiefs to their eyes.&nbsp;
+Marie blushed and turned away her face on to her uncle&rsquo;s shoulder.&nbsp;
+Madame Voss remained immovable.&nbsp; She dreaded greatly any symptoms
+of that courage which follows the flying of corks.&nbsp; In truth, however,
+she had nothing now to fear.&nbsp; &lsquo;Of course, I feel it a little,&rsquo;
+continued Adrian Urmand.&nbsp; &lsquo;That is only natural.&nbsp; I
+suppose it was a mistake; but it has been rather trying to me.&nbsp;
+But I am ready to forget and forgive, and that is all I&rsquo;ve got
+to say.&rsquo;&nbsp; This speech, which astonished them all exceedingly,
+remained unanswered for some few moments, during which Urmand had sunk
+back into his niche.&nbsp; Michel Voss was not ready-witted enough to
+reply to his guest at the moment, and George was aware that it would
+not be fitting for him, the triumphant lover, to make any reply.&nbsp;
+He could hardly have spoken without showing his triumph.&nbsp; During
+this short interval no one said a word, and Urmand endeavoured to assume
+a look of gloomy dignity.<br>
+<br>
+But at last Michel Voss got upon his legs, his wife giving him various
+twitches on the sleeve as he did so.&nbsp; &lsquo;I never was so much
+affected in my life,&rsquo; said he, &lsquo;and upon my word I think
+that our excellent friend Adrian Urmand has behaved as well in a trying
+difficulty as, - as, - as any man ever did.&nbsp; I needn&rsquo;t say
+much about it, for we all know what it was.&nbsp; And we all know that
+young women will be young women, and that they are very hard to manage.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+&lsquo;Don&rsquo;t, Uncle Michel&rsquo; said Marie in a whisper.&nbsp;
+But Michel was too bold to attend either to whisperings or pullings
+of the sleeve, and went on with his speech.&nbsp; &lsquo;There has been
+a slight mistake, but I hope sincerely that everything has now been
+made right.&nbsp; Here is our friend Adrian Urmand&rsquo;s health, and
+I am quite sure that we all hope that he may get an excellent, beautiful
+young wife, with a good dowry, and that before long.&rsquo;&nbsp; Then
+he too sat down, and all the ladies drank to the health and future fortunes
+of M. Adrian Urmand.<br>
+<br>
+Upon the whole the rejected lover liked it.&nbsp; At any rate it was
+better so than being alone and moody and despised of all people.&nbsp;
+He would know now how to get away from Granpere without having to plan
+a surreptitious escape.&nbsp; Of course he had come out intending to
+be miserable, to be known as an ill-used man who had been treated with
+an amount of cruelty surpassing all that had ever been told of in love
+histories.&nbsp; To be depressed by the weight of the ill-usage which
+he had borne was a part of the play which he had to act.&nbsp; But the
+play when acted after this fashion had in it something of pleasing excitement,
+and he felt assured that he was exhibiting dignity in very adverse circumstances.&nbsp;
+George Voss was probably thinking ill of the young man all the while;
+but every one else there conceived that M. Urmand bore himself well
+under most trying circumstances.&nbsp; After the banquet was over Marie
+expressed herself so much touched as almost to incur the jealousy of
+her more fortunate lover.&nbsp; When the speeches were finished the
+men made themselves happy with their cigars and wine till Madame Voss
+declared that she was already half-dead with the cold and damp, and
+then they all returned to the inn in excellent spirits.&nbsp; That which
+had made so bold both Michel and his guest had not been allowed to have
+any more extended or more deleterious effect.<br>
+<br>
+On the next morning M. Urmand returned home to Basle, taking the public
+conveyance as far as Remiremont.&nbsp; Everybody was up to see him off,
+and Marie herself gave him his cup of coffee at parting.&nbsp; It was
+pretty to see the mingled grace and shame with which the little ceremony
+was performed.&nbsp; She hardly said a word; indeed what word she did
+say was heard by no one; but she crossed her hands on her breast, and
+the gravest smile came over her face, and she turned her eyes down to
+the ground, and if any one ever begged pardon without a word spoken,
+Marie Bromar then asked Adrian Urmand to pardon her the evil she had
+wrought upon him.&nbsp; &lsquo;O, yes; - of course,&rsquo; he said.&nbsp;
+&lsquo;It&rsquo;s all right.&nbsp; It&rsquo;s all right.&rsquo;&nbsp;
+Then she gave him her hand, and said good-bye, and ran away up into
+her room.&nbsp; Though she had got rid of one lover, not a word had
+yet been said as to her uncle&rsquo;s acceptance of that other lover
+on her behalf; nor had any words more tender been spoken between her
+and George than those with which the reader has been made acquainted.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;And now,&rsquo; said George, as soon as the diligence had started
+out of the yard.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Well; - and what now?&rsquo; asked the father.<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I must be off to Colmar next.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Not to-day, George.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;Yes; to-day; - or this evening at least.&nbsp; But I must settle
+something first.&nbsp; What do you say, father?&rsquo;&nbsp; Michel
+Voss stood for a while with his hands in his pockets and his head turned
+away.&nbsp; &lsquo;You know what I mean, father.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;O yes; I know what you mean.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;I don&rsquo;t suppose you&rsquo;ll say anything against it now.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It wouldn&rsquo;t be any good, I suppose, if I did,&rsquo; said
+Michel, crossing over the courtyard to the other part of the establishment.&nbsp;
+He gave no farther permission than this, but George thought that so
+much was sufficient.<br>
+<br>
+George did return to Colmar that evening, being in all matters of business
+a man accurate and resolute; but he did not go till he had been thoroughly
+scolded for his misconduct by Marie Bromar.&nbsp; &lsquo;It was your
+fault,&rsquo; said Marie.&nbsp; &lsquo;Your fault from beginning to
+end.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;It shall be if you say so,&rsquo; answered George; &lsquo;but
+I can&rsquo;t say that I see it.&rsquo;<br>
+<br>
+&lsquo;If a person goes away for more than twelve months and never sends
+a word or a message or a sign, what is a person to think, George?&rsquo;&nbsp;
+He could only promise her that he would never leave her again even for
+a month.<br>
+<br>
+How they were married in November, and how Madame Faragon was brought
+over to Granpere with infinite trouble, and how the household linen
+got itself marked at last, with a V instead of a U, the reader can understand
+without the narration of farther details.<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+<br>
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE GOLDEN LION OF GRANPERE ***<br>
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