these questions, he was hardly able himself to understand the pride which had driven him away from his old home, and which had kept him silent so long.  She had promised him that she would be true to him.  Then had come those few words from his father’s mouth, words which he thought his father should never have spoken to him, and he had gone away, telling himself that he would come back and fetch her as soon as he could offer her a home independently of his father.  If, after the promises she had made to him, she would not wait for him without farther words and farther vows, she would not be worth the having.  In going, he had not precisely told himself that there should be no intercourse between them for twelve months; but the silence which he had maintained, and his continued absence, had been the consequence of the mood of his mind and the tenor of his purpose.  The longer he had been away from Granpere without tidings from any one there, the less possible had it been that he should send tidings from himself to his old home.  He had not expected messages.  He had not expected any letter.  But when nothing came, he told himself over and over again that he too would be silent, and would bide his time.  Then Edmond Greisse had come to Colmar, and brought the first rumour of Adrian Urmand’s proposal of marriage.

The reader will perhaps remember that George, when he heard this first rumour, had at once made up his mind to go over to Granpere, and that he went.  He went to Granpere partly believing, and partly disbelieving Edmond’s story.  If it were untrue, perhaps she might say a word to him that would comfort him and give him new hope.  If it were true, she would have to tell him so; and then he would say a word to her that should tear her heart, if her heart was to be reached.  But he would never let her know that she had torn his own to rags!  That was the pride of his manliness; and yet he was so boyish as not to know that it should have been for him to make those overtures for a renewal of love, which he hoped that Marie would make to him.  He had gone over to Granpere, and the reader will perhaps again remember what had passed then between him and Marie.  Just as he was leaving her he had asked her whether she was to be married to this man.  He had made no objection to such a marriage.  He had spoken no word of the constancy of his own affection.  In his heart there had been anger against her because she had spoken no such word to him,—­as of course there was also in her heart against him, very bitter and very hot.  If he wished her to be true to him, why did he not say so?  If he had given her up, why did he come there at all?  Why did he ask any questions about her marriage, if on his own behalf he had no statement to make,—­no assurance to give?  What was her marriage, or her refusal to be married, to him?  Was she to tell him that, as he had deserted her, and as she could not busy herself to overcome her love, therefore she