When he reached the angular court along two sides of which the house was built he did not at once enter the front door.  None of the family were then about the place, and he could, therefore, go into the stable and ask a question or two of the man who came to meet him.  His father, the man told him, had gone up early to the wood-cutting, and would not probably return till the afternoon.  Madame Voss was no doubt inside, as was also Marie Bromar.  Then the man commenced an elaborate account of the betrothals.  There never had been at Granpere any marriage that had been half so important as would be this marriage; no lover coming thither had ever been blessed with so beautiful and discreet a maiden, and no maiden of Granpere had ever before had at her feet a lover at the same time so good-looking, so wealthy, so sagacious, and so good-tempered.  The man declared that Adrian was the luckiest fellow in the world in finding such a wife, but his enthusiasm rose to the highest pitch when he spoke of Marie’s luck in finding such a husband.  There was no end to the good with which she would be endowed—­’linen,’ said the man, holding up his hands in admiration, ’that will last out all her grandchildren at least!’ George listened to it all, and smiled, and said a word or two—­was it worth his while to come all the way to Granpere to throw his thunderbolt at a girl who had been captivated by promises of a chest full of house linen!

George told the man that he would go up to the wood-cutting after his father; but before he was out of the court he changed his mind and slowly entered the house.  Why should he go to his father?  What had he to say to his father about the marriage that could not be better said down at the house?  After all, he had but little ground of complaint against his father.  It was Marie who had been untrue to him, and it was on Marie’s head that his wrath must fall.  No doubt his father would be angry with him when he should have thrown his thunderbolt.  It could not, as he thought, be hurled effectually without his father’s knowledge; but he need not tell his father the errand on which he had come.  So he changed his mind, and went into the inn.

He entered the house almost dreading to see her whom he was seeking.  In what way should he first express his wrath?  How should he show her the wreck which by her inconstancy she had made of his happiness?  His first words must, if possible, be spoken to her alone; and yet alone he could hardly hope to find her.  And he feared her.  Though he was so resolved to speak his mind, yet he feared her.  Though he intended to fill her with remorse, yet he dreaded the effect of her words upon himself.  He knew how strong she could be, and how steadfast.  Though his passion told him every hour, was telling him all day long, that she was as false as hell, yet there was something in him of judgment, something rather of instinct, which told him also that she was not bad, that she was a firm-hearted, high-spirited, great-minded girl, who would have reasons to give for the thing that she was doing.