During the remainder of the day on which George had left Granpere, the hours did not fly very pleasantly at the Lion d’Or.  Michel Voss had gone to his niece immediately upon his return from his walk, intending to obtain a renewed pledge from her that she would be true to her engagement.  But he had been so full of passion, so beside himself with excitement, so disturbed by all that he had heard, that he had hardly waited with Marie long enough to obtain such pledge, or to learn from her that she refused to give it.  He had only been able to tell her that if she hesitated about marrying Adrian she should never look upon his face again; and then without staying for a reply he had left her.  He had been in such a tremor of passion that he had been unable to demand an answer.  After that, when George was gone, he kept away from her during the remainder of the morning.  Once or twice he said a few words to his wife, and she counselled him to take no farther outward notice of anything that George had said to him.  ’It will all come right if you will only be a little calm with her,’ Madame Voss had said.  He had tossed his head and declared that he was calm;—­the calmest man in all Lorraine.  Then he had come to his wife again, and she had again given him some good practical advice.  ’Don’t put it into her head that there is to be a doubt,’ said Madame Voss.

‘I haven’t put it into her head,’ he answered angrily.

’No, my dear, no; but do not allow her to suppose that anybody else can put it there either.  Let the matter go on.  She will see the things bought for her wedding, and when she remembers that she has allowed them to come into the house without remonstrating, she will be quite unable to object.  Don’t give her an opportunity of objecting.’  Michel Voss again shook his head, as though his wife were an unreasonable woman, and swore that it was not he who had given Marie such opportunity.  But he made up his mind to do as his wife recommended.  ‘Speak softly to her, my dear,’ said Madame Voss.

‘Don’t I always speak softly?’ said he, turning sharply round upon his spouse.

He made his attempt to speak softly when he met Marie about the house just before supper.  He put his hand upon her shoulder, and smiled, and murmured some word of love.  He was by no means crafty in what he did.  Craft indeed was not the strong point of his character.  She took his rough hand and kissed it, and looked up lovingly, beseechingly into his face.  She knew that he was asking her to consent to the sacrifice, and he knew that she was imploring him to spare her.  This was not what Madame Voss had meant by speaking softly.  Could she have been allowed to dilate upon her own convictions, or had she been able adequately to express her own ideas, she would have begged that there might be no sentiment, no romance, no kissing of hands, no looking into each other’s faces,—­ no half-murmured tones of love.  Madame Voss believed strongly