‘Good-night, Marie.’  And then she was gone.

As soon as he was alone he sat himself down on the bedside, and began to think of it.  Everything was changed to him since he had called her into the room, determining that he would crush her with his thunderbolt.  Let things go as they may with a man in an affair of love, let him be as far as possible from the attainment of his wishes, there will always be consolation to him if he knows that he is loved.  To be preferred to all others, even though that preference may lead to no fruition, is in itself a thing enjoyable.  He had believed that Marie had forgotten him,—­that she had been captivated either by the effeminate prettiness of his rival, or by his wealth and standing in the world.  He believed all this no more.  He knew now how it was with her and with him, and, let his countenance say what it might to the contrary, he could bring himself to forgive her in his heart.  She had not forgotten him!  She had not ceased to love him!  There was merit in that which went far with him in excuse of her perfidy.

But what should he do now?  She was not as yet married to Adrian Urmand.  Might there not still be hope; hope for her sake as well as for his own?  He perfectly understood that in his country—­nay, for aught he knew to the contrary, in all countries—­a formal betrothal was half a marriage.  It was half the ceremony in the eyes of all those concerned; but yet, in regard to that indissoluble bond which would indeed have divided Marie from him beyond the reach of any hope to the contrary, such betrothal was of no effect whatever.  This man whom she did not love was not yet Marie’s husband;—­need never become so if Marie could only be sufficiently firm in resisting the influence of all her friends.  No priest could marry her without her own consent.  He—­George—­he himself would have to face the enmity of all those with whom he was connected.  He was sure that his father, having been a party to the betrothal, would never consent to a breach of his promise to Urmand.  Madame Voss, Madame Faragon, the priest, and their Protestant pastor would all be against them.  They would be as it were outcasts from their own family.  But George Voss, sitting there on his bedside, thought that he could go through it all, if only he could induce Marie Bromar to bear the brunt of the world’s displeasure with him.  As he got into bed he determined that he would begin upon the matter to his father during the morning’s walk.  His father would be full of wrath;—­but the wrath would have to be endured sooner or later.

CHAPTER XIII.