in the valley.  What M. le Cure himself may have believed, who can say?  But he never taught his parishioners that their Protestant uncles and wives and children were to be damned.  Michel Voss was averse to priestly assistance; but now he submitted to it.  He hardly knew himself how far that betrothal was a binding ceremony.  But he felt strongly that he had committed himself to the marriage; that it did not become him to allow that his son had been right; and also that if Marie would only marry the man, she would find herself quite happy in her new home.  So M. le Cure was called in, and there was a consultation.  M. le Cure was quite as hot in favour of the marriage as were the other persons concerned.  It was, in the first place, infinitely preferable in his eyes that his young parishioner should marry a Roman Catholic.  But he was not able to undertake to use any special thunders of the Church.  He could tell the young woman what was her duty, and he had done so.  If her guardians wished it, he would do so again, very strongly.  But he did not know how he was to do more.  Then the priest told the story of Annette Lolme, pointing out how well Marie was acquainted with all the bearings of the case.

‘But both consented to break it off in that case,’ said Michel.  It was singular to observe how cruel he had become against the girl whom he so dearly loved.  The Cure explained to him again that neither the Church nor the law could interfere to make her marry M. Urmand.  It might be explained to her that she would commit a sin requiring penitence and absolution if she did not marry him.  The Church could go no farther than that.  But—­such was the Cure’s opinion—­there was no power at the command of Michel Voss by which he could force his niece to marry the man, unless his own internal power as a friend and a protector might enable him to do so.  ’She doesn’t care a straw for that now,’ said he.  ’Not a straw.  Since that fellow was over here, she thinks nothing of me, and nothing of her word.’  Then he went out to the hotel door, leaving the priest with his wife, and he had not stood there for a minute or two before he saw his son’s arrival.  Marie, in the mean time, had not left her room.  She had sent word down to her uncle that she was ill, and that she would beg him to go up to her.  As yet he had not seen her; but a message had been taken to her, saying that he would come soon.  Adrian Urmand had breakfasted alone, and had since been wandering about the house by himself.  He also, from the windows of the billiard-room, had seen the arrival of George Voss.

Michel Voss, when he saw George, did not move from his place.  He was still very angry with his son, vehemently angry, because his son stood in the way of the completion of his desires.  But he had forgotten all his threats, spoken now nearly a week ago.  He was altogether oblivious of his declaration that he would have George turned away from the door by the servants of the inn.  That