CHAPTER VIII.
'How is it to be?' said Michel to his niece the next morning. Thequestion was asked downstairs in the little room, while Urmand wassitting at table in the chamber above waiting for the landlord.Michel Voss had begun to feel that his visitor would be very heavyon hand, having come there as a visitor and not as a man ofbusiness, unless he could be handed over to the woman-kind. But nosuch handing over would be possible, unless Marie would acquiesce.'How is it to be?' Michel asked. He had so prepared himself that hewas ready in accordance with a word or a look from his niece eitherto be very angry, thoroughly imperious, and resolute to have his waywith the dependent girl, or else to be all smiles, and kindness, andconfidence, 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 concessionin his niece's voice, and began immediately to adapt himself to thesofter courses. 'Well, Marie, you know what it is we all wish. Ihope 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 ahigh character and seem to deserve you.' He was looking intoMarie's face as he spoke, and saw that she was soft and thoughtfulin her mood, not proud and scornful as she had been on the precedingevening. 'You have grown up here with us, Marie, till it has almostcome 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 youraunt's duty--' it was always a sign of high good humour on the partof Michel Voss, when he spoke of his wife as being anybody in thehousehold--'my duty and your aunt's duty to see and do the best foryou.'
'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 intothis way of life naturally. But sometimes, when I have seen youwaiting on the people about the house, I've thought it wasn't quiteright.'
'I think it was quite right. Peter couldn't do it all, and he'd besure to make a mess of it.'
'We must have two Peters; that's all. But as I was saying, thatkind of thing was natural enough before you were grown up, and hadbecome--what shall I say?--such a handsome young woman.' Marielaughed, and turned up her nose and shook her head; but it may bepresumed that she received some comfort from her uncle'scompliments. '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 tothe 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 ofwaiting upon you.' When he heard this, he put his arm round her andkissed her. Had he known at that moment what her feelings were inregard to his son, he would have recommended Adrian Urmand to goback to Basle. Had he known what were George's feelings, he wouldat once have sent for his son from Colmar.
'I hope you may give me my pipe and my cup of coffee when I'm suchan old fellow that I can't get up to help myself. That's the sortof 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 thatthis kind of thing shouldn't go on. We want the world to know thatyou 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 onfor 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 comesthis young man. I am not a bit surprised that he should fall inlove with you--because I should do it myself if I were not youruncle.' Then she caressed his arm. How was she to keep herselffrom caressing him, when he spoke so sweetly to her? 'We were not abit surprised when he came and told us how it was. Nobody couldhave behaved better. Everybody must admit that. He spoke of you tome and to your aunt as though you were the highest lady in theland.'
'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 wishto 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 youshould 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, andready money.'
'What's all that, uncle?'
'Nothing;--nothing at all. No more than that,'--saying which MichelVoss threw his right hand and arm loosely abroad;--'no more thanthat, if he were not himself well-behaved along with it. We want tosee you married to him,--your aunt and I,--because we are sure thathe 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, andwill go on dreaming till you've lost yourself, unless your aunt andI interfere to prevent it. Love is all very well. Of course youmust love your husband. But it doesn't do for young women to letthemselves be run away with by romantic ideas;--it doesn't, indeed,my dear. I've heard of young women who've fallen in love withstatues and men in armour out of poetry, and grand fellows that theyput into books, and there they've been waiting, waiting, waiting,till some man in armour should come for them. The man in armourdoesn't come. But sometimes there comes somebody who looks like aman 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 ofmoney, that they'd give a child almost to anybody as long as he wasrich. 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 theinterruption, 'nor to an ill-tempered fellow, or one who gambled, orone who would use bad words to you. But here is a young man who hasno 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 rememberwhat you promised me when we were coming home the other day.' Marieremembered her promise very well, and thought that a great deal morehad been made of it than justice would have permitted. 'I don'twant to hurry you at all, only it makes me so sad at heart when myown girl won't come and say a kind word to me and give me a kissbefore we part at night. I thought so much of that last night,Marie, I couldn't sleep for thinking of it.' On hearing this, sheflung her arms round his neck and kissed him on each cheek and onhis lips. 'I get to feel so, Marie, if there's anything wrongbetween you and me, that I don't know what I'm doing. Will you dothis 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 wantto make a servant of you. Then we'll put off the rest of it tillto-morrow.' When such a request was made to her in such words, howcould she not accede to it? She had no alternative but to say thatshe would do in this respect as he would have her. She smiled, andnodded her head, and kissed him again. 'And, Marie darling, put ona 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 housealone, the granting of such requests was in fact yielding ineverything. If she made herself smart for this young man, and satnext him, and smiled, and talked to him, conscious as she wouldbe--and he would be also--that she was so placed that she might becomehis wife, how afte
rwards could she hold her ground? And if she werereally resolute to hold her ground, would it not be much better thatshe should do so by giving up no point, even though her uncle'sanger should rise hot against her? But now she had promised heruncle, and she knew that she could not go back from her word. Itwould be better for her, she told herself, to think no more aboutit. Things must arrange themselves. What did it matter whether shewere wretched at Basle or wretched at Granpere? The only thing thatcould 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. Itwas of course understood now that Marie was not to be troubled tillthe time came for her to sit down at table with her smart frock.Michel explained to his wife the full amount of his success, andacknowledged that he felt that Marie was already pretty nearlyovercome.
'She'll try to be pleasant for my sake this evening,' he said, 'andso she'll fall into the way of being intimate with him; and when heasks her to-morrow she'll be forced to take him.'
It never occurred to him, as he said this, that he was forming aplan for sacrificing the girl he loved. He imagined that he wasdoing his duty by his niece thoroughly, and was rather proud of hisown generosity. In the afternoon Adrian Urmand was taken out for adrive to the ravine by Madame Voss. They both, no doubt, felt thatthis was very tedious; but they were by nature patient--quite unlikeMichel Voss or Marie--and each of them was aware that there was aduty to be done. Adrian therefore was satisfied to potter about theravine, and Madame Voss assured him at least a dozen times that itwas 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 saidvery little to any one after leaving her uncle. Ideas flittedacross her mind of various modes of escape. What if she were to runaway--to her cousin's house at Epinal; and write from thence to saythat this proposed marriage was impossible? But her cousin atEpinal was a stranger to her, and her uncle had always been to herthe same as a father. Then she thought of going to Colmar, oftelling the whole truth to George, and of dying when he refusedher--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 theyoung man was away at the ravine, and swore to him that nothing onearth should induce her to marry Adrian Urmand? But brave as Mariewas, she was afraid to do this. He had told her how he sufferedwhen they two did not stand well together, and she feared to beaccused by him of unkindness and ingratitude. And how would it bewith her if she did accept the man? She was sufficiently alive tothe necessities of the world to know that it would be well to have ahome 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-waiterat the Lion d'Or was not a career in life of which she could havereason to be proud. As the afternoon went on she was in greatdoubt. She spread the cloth, and prepared the room for supper,somewhat earlier than usual, knowing that she should require someminutes for her toilet. It was necessary that she should explain toPeter that he must take upon himself some self-action upon thisoccasion, and it may be doubted whether she did this with perfectgood humour. She was angry when she had to look for him before shecommenced her operations, and scolded him because he could notunderstand without being told why she went away and left him twentyminutes before the bell was rung.
As soon as the bell was heard through the house, Michel Voss, whowas waiting below with his wife in a quiet unusual manner,marshalled the way upstairs. He had partly expected that Mariewould join them below, and was becoming fidgety lest she shouldbreak away from her engagement. He went first, and then followedAdrian and Madame Voss together. The accustomed guests were allready, because it had come to be generally understood that thissupper was to be as it were a supper of betrothal. Madame Voss hadon her black silk gown. Michel had changed his coat and his cravat.Adrian Urmand was exceedingly smart. The dullest intellect couldperceive that there was something special in the wind. The two oldladies who were lodgers in the house came out from their rooms fiveminutes earlier than usual, and met the cortege from downstairs inthe 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 thecompany. But he could see that there hung down some ribbon from herwaist, 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 withhim. He was very awkward. When one of the old ladies was aboutto seat herself in the chair next to Adrian--in preparation forwhich it must be admitted that Marie had made certain wickedarrangements--Michel first by signs and afterwards with audible words,intended to be whispered, indicated to the lady that she was requiredto place herself elsewhere. This was hard upon the lady, as her owntable-napkin and a cup out of which she was wont to drink wereplaced at that spot. Marie, standing at the soup-tureen, heard itall 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 shecommenced to dispense the soup.
She ladled out all the soup without once turning her face towardsthe company, then stood for a few moments as if in doubt, and afterthat walked boldly up to her place. She had intended to sit next toher uncle, opposite to her lover, and there had been her chair. ButMichel had insisted on bringing the old lady round to the seat thatMarie had intended for herself, and so had disarranged all herplans. The old lady had simpered and smiled and made a littlespeech to M. Urmand, which everybody had heard. Marie, too, hadheard it all. But the thing had to be done, and she plucked up hercourage and did it. She placed herself next to her lover, and asshe did so, felt that it was necessary that she should say somethingat the moment:
'Here I am, Uncle Michel; but you'll find you'll miss me, beforesupper is over.'
'There is somebody would much rather have you than his supper,' saidthe 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, yearsago; but nowadays men like their supper,' said Marie, who was drivenon 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 bitterlythat 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, turningto his neighbour.
Marie bowed her head, and held her glass, but the wine remained init 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 oldlady, Marie had behaved well. She was on her mettle, and veryanxious 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 boldfight--which was more than was done by her uncle or her aunt. Michelwas unable to speak in his ordinary voice or with his usual authority,and Madame Voss hardly uttered a word. Urmand, whose position wasthe hardest of all, struggled gallantly, but was quite unable tokeep up any continued conversation. The old lady had beenthoroughly silenced, and neither she nor her sister again openedtheir mouth. When Madame Voss rose from her chair in order thatthey might all retire, the consciousness of relief was very great.
For that night Marie's duty to her uncle was done. So much had beenunderstood. She was to dress herself and sit down to supper, andafter that she was not to be disturbed again till the morrow. Onthe next morning she was to be subjected to the grand trial. Sheunderstood this so well that she went about the house fearless onthat evening--fearless as regarded the moment, fearful only asregarded the morrow.
'May I ask one question, dear?' said her aunt, coming to her aftershe had gone to her own room. 'Have you made up your mind?'<
br />
'No,' said Marie; 'I have not made up my mind.'
Her aunt stood for a moment looking at her, and then crept out ofthe 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 couldsee that the girl was suffering, and, after all, what was it that hewanted? Only that she should be prosperous and happy. His heartalmost relented; and at one moment, had Marie come across him, hewould have released her. 'Let it go on,' he said to himself, as hetook up his cap and stick, and went off to the woods. 'Let it goon. If she finds to-day that she can't take him, I'll never sayanother word to press her.' He went up to the woods afterbreakfast, and did not come back till the evening.
During breakfast Marie did not show herself at all, but remainedwith the children. It was not expected that she should showherself. At about noon, as soon as her uncle had started, her auntcame to her and asked her whether she was ready to see M. Urmand.'I am ready,' said Marie, rising from her seat, and standing uprightbefore her aunt.
'And where will you see him, dear?'
'Wherever he pleases,' said Marie, with something that was againalmost 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 withoutsaying another word she got up, left the room, and went along thepassage to the chamber in question. It was a small room, furnished,as they all thought at Granpere, with Parisian elegance, intendedfor such visitors to the hotel as might choose to pay for the charmand luxury of such an apartment. It was generally found thatvisitors to Granpere did not care to pay for the luxury of thisParisian elegance, and the room was almost always empty. ThitherMarie went, and seated herself at once on the centre of the red,stuffy, velvet sofa. There she sat, perfectly motionless, tillthere came a knock at the door. Marie Bromar was a very handsomegirl, but as she sat there, all alone, with her hands crossed on herlap, with a hard look about her mouth, with a frown on her brow, andscorn and disdain for all around her in her eyes, she was as littlehandsome as it was possible that she should make herself. Sheanswered the knock, and Adrian Urmand entered the room. She did notrise, but waited till he had come close up to her. Then she was thefirst to speak. 'Aunt Josey tells me that you want to see me,' shesaid.
Urmand's task was certainly not a pleasant one. Though his temperwas excellent, he was already beginning to think that he was beingill-used. Marie, no doubt, was a very fine girl, but the match thathe offered her was one at which no young woman of her rank in allLorraine or Alsace need have turned up her nose. He had beeninvited over to Granpere specially that he might spend his time inmaking love, and he had found the task before him very hard anddisagreeable. He was afflicted with all the ponderous notoriety ofan acknowledged suitor's position, but was consoled with none of theusual comforts. Had he not been pledged to make the attempt, hewould probably have gone back to Basle; as it was, he was compelledto renew his offer. He was aware that he could not leave the housewithout doing so. But he was determined that one more refusalshould be the last.
'Marie,' said he, putting out his hand to her, 'doubtless you knowwhat 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 doubtit,' she said.
'No indeed. I love you with all my heart. I do truly. Your uncleand aunt think it would be a good thing for both of us that weshould be married. What answer will you make me, Marie?' Again shepaused. She had allowed him to take her hand, and as he thus askedhis 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 andwithdrawing her hand.
She had accepted him; and now it was no longer possible for him togo back to Basle except as a betrothed man. She had accepted him;but there came upon him a wretched feeling that none of the triumphof successful love had come to him. He was almost disappointed,--orif not disappointed, was at any rate embarrassed. But it wasnecessary that he should immediately conduct himself as an engagedman. 'And you will love me, Marie?' he said, as he again took herby the hand.
'I will do my best,' she said.
Then he put his arm round her waist and kissed her, and she did notturn away her face from him. 'I will do my best also to make youhappy,' 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 thetouch of her lips was cold, and he felt that there was no love inthem. He knew, though he could hardly define the knowledge tohimself, that she had accepted him in obedience to her uncle. Hewas almost angry, but being cautious and even-tempered by nature herepressed the feeling. He knew that he must take her now, and thathe had better make the best of it. She would, he was sure, be agood 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, onlyreasonable now that they should be together. Then he let her go,and she walked off to her room.