Marie Bromar in the mean while went on with her usual occupation round the room, but now and again came and stood at her uncle’s elbow, joining in the conversation, and asking a question or two about Madame Faragon.  There was, perhaps, something of the guile of the serpent joined to her dove-like softness.  She asked questions and listened to answers—­not that in her present state of mind she could bring herself to take a deep interest in the affairs of Madame Faragon’s hotel, but because it suited her that there should be some subject of easy conversation between her and George.  It was absolutely necessary now that George should be nothing more to her than a cousin and an acquaintance; but it was well that he should be that and not an enemy.  It would be well too that he should know, that he should think that he knew, that she was disturbed by no remembrance of those words which had once passed between them.  At last she trusted herself to a remark which perhaps she would not have made had the serpent’s guile been more perfect of its kind.

’Surely you must get a wife, George, as soon as the house is your own.’

‘Of course he will get a wife,’ said the father.

‘I hope he will get a good one,’ said Madame Voss after a short pause—­which, however, had been long enough to make her feel it necessary to say something.

George said never a word, but lifted his glass and finished his wine.  Marie at once perceived that the subject was one on which she must not venture to touch again.  Indeed, she saw farther than that, and became aware that it would be inexpedient for her to fall into any special or minute conversation with her cousin during his short stay at Granpere.

‘You’ll go up to the woods with me tomorrow—­eh, George?’ said the father.  The son of course assented.  It was hardly possible that he should not assent.  The whole day, moreover, would not be wanted for that purpose of throwing his thunderbolt; and if he could get it thrown, it would be well that he should be as far away from Marie as possible for the remainder of his visit.  ’We’ll start early, Marie, and have a bit of breakfast before we go.  Will six be too early for you, George, with your town ways?’ George said that six would not be too early, and as he made the engagement for the morning he resolved that he would if possible throw his thunderbolt that night.  ’Marie will get us a cup of coffee and a sausage.  Marie is always up by that time.’

Marie smiled, and promised that they should not be compelled to start upon their walk with empty stomachs from any fault of hers.  If a hot breakfast at six o’clock in the morning could put her cousin into a good humour, it certainly should not be wanting.

In two hours after supper George was with his father.  Michel was so full of happiness and so confidential that the son found it very difficult to keep silence about his own sorrow.  Had it not been that with a half obedience to his wife’s hints Michel said little about Adrian, there must have been an explosion.  He endeavoured to confine himself to George’s prospects, as to which he expressed himself thoroughly pleased.  ‘You see,’ said he, ’I am so strong of my years, that if you wished for my shoes, there is no knowing how long you might be kept waiting.’