‘Quite sure,’ she said, bearing forward a moment, and answering him in a whisper when she spoke.

’By my word, then, I can’t understand it.  I can’t indeed.  Has Urmand done anything to offend you?’

‘Nothing, uncle.’

‘Nor said anything?’

’Not a word; uncle.  I am not offended.  Of course I am much obliged to him.  Only I don’t love him.’

’By my faith I don’t understand it.  I don’t indeed.  It is sheer nonsense, and you must get over it.  I shouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t tell you that you must get over it.  He will be here again in another ten days, and you must have thought better of it by that time.  You must indeed, Marie.’

Then they walked down the hill in silence together, each thinking intently on the purpose of the other, but each altogether misunderstanding the other.  Michel Voss was assured—­as she had twice implied as much—­that she was altogether indifferent to his son George.  What he might have said or done had she declared her affection for her absent lover, he did not himself know.  He had not questioned himself on that point.  Though his wife had told him that Marie was ever thinking of George, he had not believed that it was so.  He had no reason for disliking a marriage between his son and his wife’s niece.  When he had first thought that they were going to be lovers, under his nose, without his permission,—­going to commence a new kind of life between themselves without so much as a word spoken to him or by him,—­he had found himself compelled to interfere, compelled as a father and an uncle.  That kind of thing could never be allowed to take place in a well-ordered house without the expressed sanction of the head of the household.  He had interfered,—­rather roughly; and his son had taken him at his word.  He was sore now at his son’s coldness to him, and was disposed to believe that his son cared not at all for any one at Granpere.  His niece was almost as dear to him as his son, and much more dutiful.  Therefore he would do the best he could for his niece.  Marie’s declaration that George was nothing to her,—­that she did not think of him,—­was in accordance with his own ideas.  His wife had been wrong.  His wife was usually wrong when any headwork was required.  There could be no good reason why Marie Bromar should not marry Adrian Urmand.

But Marie, as she knew very well, had never declared that George Voss was nothing to her,—­that he was forgotten, or that her heart was free.  He had gone from her and had forgotten her.  She was quite sure of that.  And should she ever hear that he was married to some one else,—­as it was probable that she would hear some day,—­ then she would be free again.  Then she might take this man or that, if her friends wished it—­and if she could bring herself to endure the proposed marriage.  But at present her troth was plighted to George Voss; and where her troth was given, there