‘Is it that, Aunt Josey, that makes my uncle go on like this?’ asked Marie.

‘You do not answer me, child.’

’I do not know what answer you want.  When George was here, I hardly spoke to him.  If Uncle Michel is afraid of me, I will give him my solemn promise never to marry any one without his permission.’

‘George Voss will never come back for you,’ said Madame Voss.

‘He will come when I ask him,’ said Marie, flashing round upon her aunt with all the fire of her bright eyes.  ’Does any one say that I have done anything to bring him to me?  If so, it is false, whoever says it.  I have done nothing.  He has gone away, and let him stay.  I shall not send for him.  Uncle Michel need not be afraid of me, because of George.’

By this time Marie was speaking almost in a fury of passion, and her aunt was almost subdued by her.  ‘Nobody is afraid of you, Marie,’ she said.

’Nobody need be.  If they will let me alone, I will do no harm to any one.’

‘But, Marie, you would wish to be married some day.’

’Why should I wish to be married?  If I liked him, I would take him, but I don’t.  O, Aunt Josey, I thought you would be my friend!’

’I cannot be your friend, Marie, if you oppose your uncle.  He has done everything for you, and he must know best what is good for you.  There can be no reason against M. Urmand, and if you persist in being so unruly, he will only think that it is because you want George to come back for you.’

‘I care nothing for George,’ said Marie, as she left the room; ‘nothing at all—­nothing.’

About half-an-hour afterwards, listening at her own door, she heard the sound of her uncle’s feet as he went to his room, and knew that the house was quiet.  Then she crept forth, and went about her business.  Nobody should say that she neglected anything because of this unhappiness.  She brushed the crumbs from the long table, and smoothed the cloth for the next morning’s breakfast; she put away bottles and dishes, and she locked up cupboards, and saw that the windows and the doors were fastened.  Then she went down to her books in the little office below stairs.  In the performance of her daily duty there were entries to be made and figures to be adjusted, which would have been done in the course of the evening, had it not been that she had been driven upstairs by fear of her lover and her uncle.  But by the time that she took herself up to bed, nothing had been omitted.  And after the book was closed she sat there, trying to resolve what she would do.  Nothing had, perhaps, given her so sharp a pang as her aunt’s assurance that George Voss would not come back to her, as her aunt’s suspicion that she was looking for his return.  It was not that she had been deserted, but that others should be able to taunt her with her desolation.  She had never whispered the name of George to any one since he had left Granpere, and she thought that she might have been spared this indignity.  ’If he fancies I want to interfere with him,’ she said to herself, thinking of her uncle, and of her uncle’s plans in reference to his son, ‘he will find that he is mistaken.’  Then it occurred to her that she would be driven to accept Adrian Urmand to prove that she was heart-whole in regard to George Voss.