On the next morning nobody except Marie herself was very early.  It was intended that the day should be got through at any rate with a pretence of pleasure, and they were all to be as idle, and genteel, and agreeable as possible.  It had been settled that they should start at twelve.  The drive, unfortunately, would not consume much more than half an hour.  Then what with unpacking, climbing about the rocks, and throwing stones down into the river, they would get through the time till two.  At two they would eat their dinner—­with all their shawls and greatcoats around them—­then smoke their cigars, and come back when they found it impossible to drag out the day any longer.  Marie was not to talk to George, and was to be specially courteous to M. Urmand.  The two old ladies accompanied them, as did also M. le Cure Gondin.  The programme for the day did not seem to be very delightful; but it appeared to Michel Voss that in this way, better than in any other, could some little halo be thrown over the parting hours of poor Adrian Urmand.

Everything went as well as could have been anticipated.  They managed to delay their departure till nearly half-past twelve, and were so lost in wonder at the quantity of water running down the fall in the ravine, that there had hardly been any heaviness of time when they seated themselves on the rocks at half-past two.

‘Now for the business of the day,’ said Michel, as, standing up, he plunged a knife and fork into a large pie which he had placed on a boulder before him.  ’Marie has got no soup for us here, so we must begin with the solids at once.’  Soon after that one cork might have been heard to fly, and then another, and no stranger looking on would have believed how dreadful had been the enmity existing on the previous day—­or, indeed, how great a cause for enmity there had been.  Michel himself was very hilarious.  If he could only obliterate in any way the evil which he had certainly inflicted on that unfortunate young man!  ’Urmand, my friend, another glass of wine.  George, fill our friend Urmand’s glass; not so quickly, George, not so quickly; you give him nothing but the froth.  Adrian Urmand, your very good health.  May you always be a happy and successful man!’ So saying, Michel Voss drained his own tumbler.

Urmand, at the moment, was seated in a niche among the rocks, in which a cushion out of the carriage had been placed for his special accommodation.  Indeed, every comfort and luxury had been showered upon his head to compensate him for his lost bride.  This was the third time that he had been by name invited to drink his wine, and three times he had obeyed.  Now, feeling himself to be summoned in a very peculiar way—­feeling also, perhaps, that that which might have made others drunk had made him bold, he extricated himself from his niche, and stood upon his legs among the rocks.  He stood upon his legs among the rocks, and with a graceful movement of his arm, waved the glass above his head.