One day Edmond Greisse was over at Colmar—­Edmond Greisse, the lad whose untidy appearance at the supper-table at the Lion d’Or had called down the rebuke of Marie Bromar.  He had been sent over on some business by his employer, and had come to get his supper and bed at Madame Faragon’s hotel.  He was a modest, unassuming lad, and had been hardly more than a boy when George Voss had left Granpere.  From time to time George had seen some friend from the village, and had thus heard tidings from home.  Once, as has been said, Madame Voss had made a pilgrimage to Madame Faragon’s establishment to visit him; but letters between the houses had not been frequent.  Though postage in France—­or shall we say Germany?—­is now almost as low as in England, these people of Alsace have not yet fallen into the way of writing to each other when it occurs to any of them that a word may be said.  Young Greisse had seen the landlady, who now never went upstairs among her guests, and had had his chamber allotted to him, and was seated at the supper-table, before he met George Voss.  It was from Madame Faragon that George heard of his arrival.

‘There is a neighbour of yours from Granpere in the house,’ said she.

‘From Granpere?  And who is he?’

’I forget the lad’s name; but he says that your father is well, and Madame Voss.  He goes back early to-morrow with the roulage and some goods that his people have bought.  I think he is at supper now.’

The place of honour at the top of the table at the Colmar inn was not in these days assumed by Madame Faragon.  She had, alas, become too stout to do so with either grace or comfort, and always took her meals, as she always lived, in the little room downstairs, from which she could see, through the apertures of two doors, all who came in and all who went out by the chief entrance of the hotel.  Nor had George usurped the place.  It had now happened at Colmar, as it has come to pass at most hotels, that the public table is no longer the table-d’hote.  The end chair was occupied by a stout, dark man, with a bald head and black beard, who was proudly filling a place different from that of his neighbours, and who would probably have gone over to the Hotel de l’Imperatrice had anybody disturbed him.  On the present occasion George seated himself next to the lad, and they were soon discussing all the news from Granpere.

‘And how is Marie Bromar?’ George asked at last.

‘You have heard about her, of course,’ said Edmond Greisse.

‘Heard what?’

‘She is going to be married.’

‘Minnie Bromar to be married?  And to whom?’

Edmond at once understood that his news was regarded as being important, and made the most of it.

‘O dear, yes.  It was settled last week when he was there.’

‘But who is he?’

‘Adrian Urmand, the linen-buyer from Basle.’

‘Marie to be married to Adrian Urmand?’