Marie as she listened to his praise and his ecstasies, knowing by a sure instinct every turn of his thoughts, tried to take joy to herself in that she had given joy to him.  Though he was her uncle, and had in fact been her master, he was actually the one real friend whom she had made for herself in her life.  There had been a month or two of something more than friendship with George Voss; but she was too wise to look much at that now.  Michel Voss was the one being in the world whom she knew best, of whom she thought most, whose thoughts and wishes she had most closely studied, whose interests were ever present to her mind.  Perhaps it may be said of every human heart in a sound condition that it must be specially true to some other one human heart; but it may certainly be so said of every female heart.  The object may be changed from time to time,—­may be changed very suddenly, as when a girl’s devotion is transferred with the consent of all her friends from her mother to her lover; or very slowly, as when a mother’s is transferred from her husband to some favourite child; but, unless self-worship be predominant, there is always one friend to whom the woman’s breast is true,—­for whom it is the woman’s joy to offer herself in sacrifice.  Now with Marie Bromar that one being had been her uncle.  She prospered, if he prospered.  His comfort was her comfort.  Even when his palate was pleased, there was some gratification akin to animal enjoyment on her part.  It was ease to her, that he should be at his ease in his arm-chair.  It was mirth to her, that he should laugh.  When he was contented she was satisfied.  When he was ruffled she was never smooth.  Her sympathy with him was perfect; and now that he was radiant with triumph, though his triumph came from his victory over herself, she could not deny him the pleasure of triumphing with him.

‘Dear uncle,’ she said, still caressing him, ’I am so glad that you are pleased.’

’Of course it will be a poor house without you, Marie.  As for me, it will be just as though I had lost my right leg and my right arm.  But what!  A man is not always to be thinking of himself.  To see you treated by all the world as you ought to be treated,—­as I should choose that my own daughter should be treated,—­that is what I have desired.  Sometimes when I’ve thought of it all when I’ve been alone, I have been mad with myself for letting it go on as it has done.’

‘It has gone on very nicely, I think, Uncle Michel.’  She knew how worse than useless it would be now to try and make him understand that it would be better for them both that she should remain with him.  She knew, to the moving of a feather, what she could do with him and what she could not.  Her immediate wish was to enable him to draw all possible pleasure from his triumph of the day, and therefore she would say no word to signify that his glory was founded on her sacrifice.