‘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.’