CHAPTER VII.
Adrian Urmand, in spite of his white hands and his well-combed locksand the silk lining to his coat, had so much of the spirit of a manthat he was minded to hold his head well up before the girl whom hewished to make his wife. Michel during that drive from Remiremonthad told him that he might probably prevail. Michel had said athousand things in favour of his niece and not a word to herprejudice; but he had so spoken, or had endeavoured so to speak, asto make Urmand understand that Marie could only be won withdifficulty, and that she was perhaps unaccountably averse to theidea of matrimony. 'She is like a young filly, you know, thatstarts and plunges when she is touched,' he had said. 'You thinkthere is nobody else?' Urmand had asked. Then Michel Voss hadanswered with confidence, 'I am sure there is nobody else.' Urmandhad listened and said very little; but when at supper he saw thatthe uncle was ruffled in his temper and sat silent with a blackbrow, that Madame Voss was troubled in spirit, and that Mariedispensed her soup without vouchsafing a look to any one, he feltthat it behoved him to do his best, and he did it. He talked freelyto Madame Voss, telling her the news from Basle,--how at length hethought the French trade was reviving, and how all the Swissauthorities were still opposed to the German occupation of Alsace;and how flax was likely to be dearer than ever he had seen it; andhow the travelling English were fewer this year than usual, to thegreat detriment of the innkeepers. Every now and then he would saya word to Marie herself, as she passed near him, speaking in acheery tone and striving his best to dispel a black silence which onthe present occasion would have been specially lugubrious. Upon thewhole he did his work well, and Michel Voss was aware of it; butMarie Bromar entertained no gentle thought respecting him. He wasnot wanted there, and he ought not to have come. She had given himan answer, and he ought to have taken it. Nothing, she declared toherself, was meaner than a man who would go to a girl's parents orguardians for support, when the girl herself had told him that shewished to have nothing to do with him. Marie had promised that shewould try, but every feeling of her heart was against the struggle.
After supper Michel with his young friend sat some time at thetable, for the innkeeper had brought forth a bottle of his bestBurgundy in honour of the occasion. When they had eaten theirfruit, Madame Voss left the room, and Michel and Adrian were soonalone together. 'Say nothing to her till to-morrow,' said Michel ina low voice.
'I will not,' said Adrian. 'I do not wonder that she should be putout of face if she knows why I have come.'
'Of course she knows. Give her to-night and to-morrow, and we willsee how it is to be.' At this time Marie was up-stairs with thechildren, resolute that nothing should induce her to go down tillshe should be sure that their visitor had gone to his chamber.There were many things about the house which it was her custom tosee in their place before she went to her rest, and nobody shouldsay that she neglected her work because of this dressed-up doll; butshe would wait till she was sure of him,--till she was sure of heruncle also. In her present frame of mind she could not have spokento the doll with ordinary courtesy. What she feared was, that heruncle should seek her up-stairs.
But Michel had some idea that her part in the play was not an easyone, and was minded to spare her for that night. But she hadpromised to try, and she must be reminded of her promise. Hithertoshe certainly had not tried. Hitherto she had been ill-tempered,petulant, and almost rude. He would not see her himself thisevening, but he would send a message to her by his wife. 'Tell herfrom 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 onhis own.
'I suppose she is flurried,' said Madame Voss.
'Ah, flurried! That may do for to-night. I have been very good toher. Had she been my own, I could not have been kinder. I haveloved her just as if she were my own. Of course I look now for theobedience of a child.'
'She does not mean to be undutiful, Michel.'
'I do not know about meaning. I like reality, and I will have ittoo. I consulted herself, and was more forbearing than most fatherswould be. I talked to her about it, and she promised me that shewould do her best to entertain the man. Now she receives him and mewith an old frock and a sulky face. Who pays for her clothes? Shehas everything she wants,--just as a daughter, and she would nottake the trouble to change her dress to grace my friend,--as youdid, as any daughter would! I am angry with her.'
'Do not be angry with her. I think I can understand why she did notput on another frock.'
'So can I understand. I can understand well enough. I am not afool. 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 isbid. He is not old or ugly, or a sot, or a gambler. Upon my wordand honour I can't conceive what it is that she wants. I can'tindeed.' It was perhaps the fault of Michel Voss that he could notunderstand that a young woman should live in the same house withhim, and have a want which he did not conceive. Poor Marie! Allthat she wanted now, at this moment, was to be let alone!
Madame Voss, in obedience to her husband's commands, went up toMarie and found her sitting in the children's room, leaning with herhead on her hand and her elbow on the table, while the children wereasleep 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 aregone, 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 thethings were not put straight. Everything is about the houseeverywhere. 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 myroom a moment, Marie. I want to speak to you. Your uncle won't beup yet.' Then she led the way, and Marie followed her. 'Your uncleis 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 alwaysdo. If Uncle Michel wants anything else, that is his fault;--notmine.'
'Of course you know what he wants, and I must say that you ought toobey him. You gave him a sort of a promise, and now he thinks thatyou 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 tothink of instead of talking to the people. How would the things go,if I took to talking to the people, and left everything to thatlittle goose, Peter? Uncle Michel is unreasonable,--and unkind.'
'He means to do the best by you in his power. He wants to treat youjust as though you were his daughter.'
'Then let him leave me alone. I don't want anything to be done. IfI were his daughter he would not grudge me permission to stop athome in his house. I don't want anything else. I have nevercomplained.'
'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 willonly let me alone.'
'Marie,' said Madame Voss after a short pause, 'I sometimes thinkthat you still have got George Voss in your head.'
'Is it that, Aunt Josey, that makes my uncle go on like this?' askedMarie.
'You do not answer me, child.'
'I do not know what answer you want. When George was here, I hardlyspoke to him. If Uncle Michel is afraid of me, I will give him mysolemn promise never to marry any one without his permission.'
'George Voss will never come back for you,' said Madame Voss.
&nbs
p; 'He will come when I ask him,' said Marie, flashing round upon heraunt with all the fire of her bright eyes. 'Does any one say that Ihave done anything to bring him to me? If so, it is false, whoeversays 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 heraunt 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 toany 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 hasdone 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 inbeing so unruly, he will only think that it is because you wantGeorge 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 heardthe sound of her uncle's feet as he went to his room, and knew thatthe house was quiet. Then she crept forth, and went about herbusiness. Nobody should say that she neglected anything because ofthis unhappiness. She brushed the crumbs from the long table, andsmoothed the cloth for the next morning's breakfast; she put awaybottles and dishes, and she locked up cupboards, and saw that thewindows and the doors were fastened. Then she went down to herbooks in the little office below stairs. In the performance of herdaily 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 notbeen that she had been driven upstairs by fear of her lover and heruncle. But by the time that she took herself up to bed, nothing hadbeen omitted. And after the book was closed she sat there, tryingto resolve what she would do. Nothing had, perhaps, given her sosharp a pang as her aunt's assurance that George Voss would not comeback to her, as her aunt's suspicion that she was looking for hisreturn. It was not that she had been deserted, but that othersshould be able to taunt her with her desolation. She had neverwhispered the name of George to any one since he had left Granpere,and she thought that she might have been spared this indignity. 'Ifhe fancies I want to interfere with him,' she said to herself,thinking of her uncle, and of her uncle's plans in reference to hisson, 'he will find that he is mistaken.' Then it occurred to herthat she would be driven to accept Adrian Urmand to prove that shewas heart-whole in regard to George Voss.
She sat there, thinking of it till the night was half-spent, andwhen she crept up cold to bed, she had almost made up her mind thatit would be best for her to do as her uncle wished. As for lovingthe man, that was out of the question. But then would it not bebetter to do without love altogether?