‘And where will you see him, dear?’

‘Wherever he pleases,’ said Marie, with something that was again almost savage in her voice.

‘Shall he come up-stairs to you?’

‘What, here?’

’No; he cannot come here.  You might go into the little sitting-room.’

‘Very well.  I will go into the little sitting room.’  Then without saying another word she got up, left the room, and went along the passage to the chamber in question.  It was a small room, furnished, as they all thought at Granpere, with Parisian elegance, intended for such visitors to the hotel as might choose to pay for the charm and luxury of such an apartment.  It was generally found that visitors to Granpere did not care to pay for the luxury of this Parisian elegance, and the room was almost always empty.  Thither Marie went, and seated herself at once on the centre of the red, stuffy, velvet sofa.  There she sat, perfectly motionless, till there came a knock at the door.  Marie Bromar was a very handsome girl, but as she sat there, all alone, with her hands crossed on her lap, with a hard look about her mouth, with a frown on her brow, and scorn and disdain for all around her in her eyes, she was as little handsome as it was possible that she should make herself.  She answered the knock, and Adrian Urmand entered the room.  She did not rise, but waited till he had come close up to her.  Then she was the first to speak.  ‘Aunt Josey tells me that you want to see me,’ she said.

Urmand’s task was certainly not a pleasant one.  Though his temper was excellent, he was already beginning to think that he was being ill-used.  Marie, no doubt, was a very fine girl, but the match that he offered her was one at which no young woman of her rank in all Lorraine or Alsace need have turned up her nose.  He had been invited over to Granpere specially that he might spend his time in making love, and he had found the task before him very hard and disagreeable.  He was afflicted with all the ponderous notoriety of an acknowledged suitor’s position, but was consoled with none of the usual comforts.  Had he not been pledged to make the attempt, he would probably have gone back to Basle; as it was, he was compelled to renew his offer.  He was aware that he could not leave the house without doing so.  But he was determined that one more refusal should be the last.

‘Marie,’ said he, putting out his hand to her, ’doubtless you know what it is that I would say.’

‘I suppose I do,’ she answered.

‘I hope you do not doubt my true affection for you.’

She paused a moment before she replied.  ’I have no reason to doubt it,’ she said.

’No indeed.  I love you with all my heart.  I do truly.  Your uncle and aunt think it would be a good thing for both of us that we should be married.  What answer will you make me, Marie?’ Again she paused.  She had allowed him to take her hand, and as he thus asked his question he was standing opposite to her, still holding it.  ‘You have thought about it, Marie, since I was here last?’