CHAPTER II.
Exactly at eight o'clock every evening a loud bell was sounded inthe hotel of the Lion d'Or at Granpere, and all within the housesat down together to supper. The supper was spread on a long tablein the saloon up-stairs, and the room was lighted with camphinelamps,--for as yet gas had not found its way to Granpere. At thismeal assembled not only the guests in the house and the members of thefamily of the landlord,--but also many persons living in the villagewhom it suited to take, at a certain price per month, the chief mealof the day, at the house of the innkeeper, instead of eating intheir own houses a more costly, a less dainty, and probably a lonelysupper. Therefore when the bell was heard there came together somedozen residents of Granpere, mostly young men engaged in the linentrade, from their different lodgings, and each took his accustomedseat down the sides of the long board, at which, tied in a knot, wasplaced his own napkin. At the top of the table was the place ofMadame Voss, which she never failed to fill exactly three minutesafter the bell had been rung. At her right hand was the chair ofthe master of the house,--never occupied by any one else;--but itwould often happen that some business would keep him away. SinceGeorge had left him he had taken the timber into his own hands, andwas accustomed to think and sometimes to say that the necessity wascruel on him. Below his chair and on the other side of Madame Vossthere would generally be two or three places kept for guests whomight be specially looked upon as the intimate friends of themistress of the house; and at the farther end of the table, close tothe window, was the space allotted to travellers. Here the napkinswere not tied in knots, but were always clean. And, though thelittle plates of radishes, cakes, and dried fruits were continuedfrom one of the tables to the other, the long-necked thin bottles ofcommon wine came to an end before they reached the strangers'portion of the board; for it had been found that strangers wouldtake at that hour either tea or a better kind of wine than thatwhich Michel Voss gave to his accustomed guests without any specialcharge. When, however, the stranger should please to take thecommon wine, he was by no means thereby prejudiced in the eyes ofMadame Voss or her husband. Michel Voss liked a profit, but heliked the habits of his country almost as well.
One evening in September, about twelve months after the departure ofGeorge, Madame Voss took her seat at the table, and the young men ofthe place who had been waiting round the door of the hotel for a fewminutes, followed her into the room. And there was M. Goudin, theCure, with another young clergyman, his friend. On Sundays the Curealways dined at the hotel at half-past twelve o'clock, as the friendof 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; andindeed there was no such formal meal given in the house of MichelVoss on week days. There was something put on the table about noonin the little room between the kitchen and the public window; butexcept on Sundays it could hardly be called a dinner. On Sundays areal dinner was served in the room up-stairs, with soup, andremoves, and entrees and the roti, all in the right place,--whichshowed 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 Epinalwho were lodging at Granpere for change of air. They seatedthemselves near to Madame Voss, but still leaving a place or twovacant. And presently at the bottom of the table there came anEnglishman and his wife, who were travelling through the country;and so the table was made up. A lad of about fifteen, who was knownin Granpere as the waiter at the Lion d'Or, looked after the twostrangers and the young men, and Marie Bromar, who herself hadarranged 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 shemarked the moment when the dispensing should begin, and counted herguests, thoughtful as to the sufficiency of the dishes to come; andnoticed that Edmond Greisse had sat down with such dirty hands thatshe must bid her uncle to warn the lad; and observed that the moreelderly of the two ladies from Epinal had bread too hard to suither,--which should be changed as soon as the soup had beendispensed. She looked round, and even while dispensing saweverything. It was suggested in the last chapter that another housemight have been built in Granpere, and that George Voss might havegone there, taking Marie as his bride; but the Lion d'Or wouldsorely have missed those quick and careful eyes.
Then, when that dispensing of the soup was concluded, Michel enteredthe room bringing with him a young man. The young man had evidentlybeen expected; for, when he took the place close at the left hand ofMadame Voss, she simply bowed to him, saying some word of courtesyas Michel took his place on the other side. Then Marie dispensedtwo more portions of soup, and leaving one on the farther table forthe boy to serve, though she could well have brought the two, waitedherself upon her uncle. 'And is Urmand to have no soup?' saidMichel Voss, as he took his niece lovingly by the hand.
'Peter is bringing it,' said Marie. And in a moment or two Peterthe waiter did bring the young man his soup.
'And will not Mademoiselle Marie sit down with us?' said the youngman.
'If you can make her, you have more influence than I,' said Michel.'Marie never sits, and never eats, and never drinks.' She wasstanding now close behind her uncle with both her hands upon hishead; and she would often stand so after the supper was commenced,only moving to attend upon him, or to supplement the services ofPeter and the maid-servant when she perceived that they werebecoming for a time inadequate to their duties. She answered heruncle 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 noteat. I have taken my supper already.' Then she moved away, andhovered round the two strangers at the end of the room. Aftersupper Michel Voss and the young man--Adrian Urmand by name--littheir cigars and seated themselves on a bench outside the frontdoor. '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 herwhether she could love you.'
'Well,--yes. I have said as much as that, but I have never got ananswer. And when I did ask her, she merely left me. She is notmuch given to talking.'
'She will not make the worse wife, my friend, because she is notmuch given to such talking as that. When she is out with me on aSunday afternoon she has chat enough. By St. James, she'll talk fortwo hours without stopping when I'm so out of breath with the hillthat 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 neitheryou nor she can afford to part with her.'
Michel Voss was silent for a moment. It was dusk, and no one couldsee him as he brushed a tear from each eye with the back of hishand. 'I'll tell you what, Urmand,--it will break my heart to loseher. Do you see how she comes to me and comforts me? But if itbroke 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 agood match for her. You have my leave to ask her. She broughtnothing here, but she has been a good girl, a very good girl, andshe will not leave the house empty-handed.'
Adrian Urmand was a linen-buyer from Basle, and was known to have agood share in a good business. He was a handsome young man too,though rather small, and perhaps a little too apt to wear rings onhis fingers and to show jewelry on his shirt-front and about hiswaistcoat. 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 MichelVoss felt that he might give his niece to him without danger, if heand she could manage to like each other sufficiently. As toUrmand's liking, there was no doubt. Urmand was ready enough.
'I will see if she will speak to me just now,' said Urmand afte
r apause.
'Shall her aunt try it, or shall I do it?' said Michel.
But Adrian Urmand thought that part of the pleasure of love lay inthe making of it himself. So he declined the innkeeper's offer, atany rate for the present occasion. 'Perhaps,' said he, 'Madame Vosswill say a word for me after I have spoken for myself.'
'So let it be,' said the landlord. And then they finished theircigars in silence.
It was in vain that Adrian Urmand tried that night to obtainaudience from Marie. Marie, as though she well knew what was wantedof her and was determined to thwart her lover, would not allowherself to be found alone for a moment. When Adrian presentedhimself at the window of her little bar, he found that Peter waswith her, and she managed to keep Peter with her till Adrian wasgone. And again, when he hoped to find her alone for a few momentsafter the work of the day was over in the small parlour where shewas accustomed to sit for some half hour before she would go up toher room, he was again disappointed. She was already up-stairs withher aunt and the children, and all Michel Voss's good nature inkeeping out of the way was of no avail.
But Urmand was determined not to be beaten. He intended to returnto Basle on the next day but one, and desired to put this matter alittle in forwardness before he took his departure. On thefollowing morning he had various appointments to keep withcountrymen and their wives, who sold linen to him, but he was quickover his business and managed to get back to the inn early in theafternoon. From six till eight he well knew that Marie would allownothing to impede her in the grand work of preparing for supper; butat four o'clock she would certainly be sitting somewhere about thehouse 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 ashe came behind her, standing motionless with both hands on the sillof 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 Basleto-morrow,' said he, as soon as she had looked round at the sound ofhis 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 cleangone. One used to be able to buy well; but there is not an oldwoman 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 nearlyas 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? Theythink that I come here for their sakes,--merely to bring the marketto their doors.' Then he began to remember that he had no specialobject in discussing the circumstances of his trade with MarieBromar, and that he had a special object in another direction. Buthow to turn the subject was now a difficulty.
'I am sure you do not buy without a profit,' said Marie Bromar, whenshe found that he was silent. 'And then the poor people, who haveto pay so dear for everything!' She was making a violent attempt tokeep him on the ground of his customers and his purchases.
'There was another thing that I wanted to say to you, Marie,' hebegan 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 nottell you now that I love you, need I, Marie? You know as well as Ido what I think of you.'
'No, I don't,' said Marie, not intending to encourage him to tellher, 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 avery happy man. That is all. Everybody knows how pretty you are,and how good, and how clever; but I do not think that anybody lovesyou 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 quiteclose to her, and having placed his hand behind her back, waswinding his arm round her waist.
'I will not have you do that, M. Urmand,' she said, escaping fromhis 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 nottry to love me?'
'I know they wish it. It is easy enough for a girl to see when suchthings are wished or when they are forbidden. Of course I know thatuncle 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 aboveme.'
'I am not a bit above you. If you knew what I think, you wouldn'tsay so.'
'But--'
'Well, Marie. Think a moment, dearest, before you give me an answerthat shall make me either happy or miserable.'
'I have thought. I would almost burn myself in the fire, if unclewished 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 bemarried at all.'
'Nay, Marie, you will certainly be married some day.'
'No; there is no such certainty. Some girls never get married. Iam 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 mustgo away now, M. Urmand, because I am wanted below.'
She did go, and Adrian Urmand spoke no farther word of love to heron that occasion.
'I will speak to her about it myself,' said Michel Voss, when heheard his young friend's story that evening, seated again upon thebench 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 totake to market. One can never be quite certain which way they wantto go. After you are off to-morrow, I will have a few words withher. She does not quite understand as yet that she must make herhay while the sun shines. Some of 'em are all in a hurry to getmarried, and some of 'em again are all for hanging back, when theirfriends wish it. It's natural, I believe, that they should becontrary. But Marie is as good as the best of them, and when Ispeak to her, she'll hear reason.'
Adrian Urmand had no alternative but to assent to the innkeeper'sproposition. The idea of making love second-hand was not pleasantto him; but he could not hinder the uncle from speaking his mind tothe niece. One little suggestion he did make before he took hisdeparture. 'It can't be, I suppose, that there is any one else thatshe likes better?' To this Michel Voss made no answer in words, butshook his head in a fashion that made Adrian feel assured that therewas no danger on that head.
But Michel Voss, though he had shaken his head in a manner sosatisfactory, had feared that there was such danger. He hadconsidered himself justified in shaking his head, but would not beso false as to give in words the assurance which Adrian had asked.That night he discussed the matter with his wife, declaring it ashis purpose that Marie Bromar should marry Adrian Urmand. 'It isimpossible 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 assteady 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 andchildren will not come to want.'
Madame Voss paused a moment before she made her last and grandobjection to the match. 'It is my belief,' said she, 'that Marie isalways thinking of George.'
'Then she had better cease to think of him,' said Michel; 'forGeorge is not thinking of her.' He said nothing farther, butresolved to speak his own mind f
reely to Marie Bromar.