‘There was another thing that I wanted to say to you, Marie,’ he began at last abruptly.

‘Another thing,’ said Marie, knowing that the hour had come.

’Yes;—­another thing.  I daresay you know what it is.  I need not tell you now that I love you, need I, Marie?  You know as well as I do what I think of you.’

‘No, I don’t,’ said Marie, not intending to encourage him to tell her, but simply saying that which came easiest to her at the moment.

’I think this,—­that if you will consent to be my wife, I shall be a very happy man.  That is all.  Everybody knows how pretty you are, and how good, and how clever; but I do not think that anybody loves you better than I do.  Can you say that you will love me, Marie?  Your uncle approves of it,—­and your aunt.’  He had now come quite close to her, and having placed his hand behind her back, was winding his arm round her waist.

‘I will not have you do that, M. Urmand,’ she said, escaping from his embrace.

‘But that is no answer.  Can you love me, Marie?’

‘No,’ she said, hardly whispering the word between her teeth.

‘And is that to be all?’

‘What more can I say?’

’But your uncle wishes it, and your aunt.  Dear Marie, can you not try to love me?’

’I know they wish it.  It is easy enough for a girl to see when such things are wished or when they are forbidden.  Of course I know that uncle wishes it.  And he is very good;—­and so are you, I daresay.  And I’m sure I ought to be very proud, because you are so much above me.’

’I am not a bit above you.  If you knew what I think, you wouldn’t say so.’

‘But—­’

’Well, Marie.  Think a moment, dearest, before you give me an answer that shall make me either happy or miserable.’

’I have thought.  I would almost burn myself in the fire, if uncle wished it.’

‘And he does wish this.’

‘But I cannot do this even because he wishes it.’

‘Why not, Marie?’

’I prefer being as I am.  I do not wish to leave the hotel, or to be married at all.’

‘Nay, Marie, you will certainly be married some day.’

’No; there is no such certainty.  Some girls never get married.  I am of use here, and I am happy here.’

‘Ah! it is because you cannot love me.’

’I don’t suppose I shall ever love any one, not in that way.  I must go away now, M. Urmand, because I am wanted below.’

She did go, and Adrian Urmand spoke no farther word of love to her on that occasion.

‘I will speak to her about it myself,’ said Michel Voss, when he heard his young friend’s story that evening, seated again upon the bench outside the door, and smoking another cigar.

‘It will be of no use,’ said Adrian.