‘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