Exactly at eight o'clock every evening a loud bell was sounded in
the hotel of the Lion d'Or at Granpere, and all within the house
sat down together to supper. The supper was spread on a long table
in the saloon up-stairs, and the room was lighted with camphine
lamps,--for as yet gas had not found its way to Granpere. At this
meal assembled not only the guests in the house and the members of the
family of the landlord,--but also many persons living in the village
whom it suited to take, at a certain price per month, the chief meal
of the day, at the house of the innkeeper, instead of eating in
their own houses a more costly, a less dainty, and probably a lonely
supper. Therefore when the bell was heard there came together some
dozen residents of Granpere, mostly young men engaged in the linen
trade, from their different lodgings, and each took his accustomed
seat down the sides of the long board, at which, tied in a knot, was
placed his own napkin. At the top of the table was the place of
Madame Voss, which she never failed to fill exactly three minutes
after the bell had been rung. At her right hand was the chair of
the master of the house,--never occupied by any one else;--but it
would often happen that some business would keep him away. Since
George had left him he had taken the timber into his own hands, and
was accustomed to think and sometimes to say that the necessity was
cruel on him. Below his chair and on the other side of Madame Voss
there would generally be two or three places kept for guests who
might be specially looked upon as the intimate friends of the
mistress of the house; and at the farther end of the table, close to
the window, was the space allotted to travellers. Here the napkins
were not tied in knots, but were always clean. And, though the
little plates of radishes, cakes, and dried fruits were continued
from one of the tables to the other, the long-necked thin bottles of
common wine came to an end before they reached the strangers'
portion of the board; for it had been found that strangers would
take at that hour either tea or a better kind of wine than that
which Michel Voss gave to his accustomed guests without any special
charge. When, however, the stranger should please to take the
common wine, he was by no means thereby prejudiced in the eyes of
Madame Voss or her husband. Michel Voss liked a profit, but he
liked the habits of his country almost as well.
One evening in September, about twelve months after the departure of
George, Madame Voss took her seat at the table, and the young men of
the place who had been waiting round the door of the hotel for a few
minutes, followed her into the room. And there was M. Goudin, the
Cure, with another young clergyman, his friend. On Sundays the Cure
always dined at the hotel at half-past twelve o'clock, as the friend
of the family; but for his supper he paid, as did the other guests.
I rather fancy that on week days he had no particular dinner; and
indeed there was no such formal meal given in the house of Michel
Voss on week days. There was something put on the table about noon
in the little room between the kitchen and the public window; but
except on Sundays it could hardly be called a dinner. On Sundays a
real dinner was served in the room up-stairs, with soup, and
removes, and entrees and the roti, all in the right place,--which
showed that they knew what a dinner was at the Lion d'Or;--but,
throughout the week, supper was the meal of the day. After M.
Goudin, on this occasion, there came two maiden ladies from Epinal
who were lodging at Granpere for change of air. They seated
themselves near to Madame Voss, but still leaving a place or two
vacant. And presently at the bottom of the table there came an
Englishman and his wife, who were travelling through the country;
and so the table was made up. A lad of about fifteen, who was known
in Granpere as the waiter at the Lion d'Or, looked after the two
strangers and the young men, and Marie Bromar, who herself had
arranged the board, stood at the top of the room, by a second table,
and dispensed the soup. It was pleasant to watch her eyes, as she
marked the moment when the dispensing should begin, and counted her
guests, thoughtful as to the sufficiency of the dishes to come; and
noticed that Edmond Greisse had sat down with such dirty hands that
she must bid her uncle to warn the lad; and observed that the more
elderly of the two ladies from Epinal had bread too hard to suit
her,--which should be changed as soon as the soup had been
dispensed. She looked round, and even while dispensing saw
everything. It was suggested in the last chapter that another house
might have been built in Granpere, and that George Voss might have
gone there, taking Marie as his bride; but the Lion d'Or would
sorely have missed those quick and careful eyes.
Then, when that dispensing of the soup was concluded, Michel entered
the room bringing with him a young man. The young man had evidently
been expected; for, when he took the place close at the left hand of
Madame Voss, she simply bowed to him, saying some word of courtesy
as Michel took his place on the other side. Then Marie dispensed
two more portions of soup, and leaving one on the farther table for
the boy to serve, though she could well have brought the two, waited
herself upon her uncle. 'And is Urmand to have no soup?' said
Michel Voss, as he took his niece lovingly by the hand.
'Peter is bringing it,' said Marie. And in a moment or two Peter
the waiter did bring the young man his soup.
'And will not Mademoiselle Marie sit down with us?' said the young
man.
'If you can make her, you have more influence than I,' said Michel.
'Marie never sits, and never eats, and never drinks.' She was
standing now close behind her uncle with both her hands upon his
head; and she would often stand so after the supper was commenced,
only moving to attend upon him, or to supplement the services of
Peter and the maid-servant when she perceived that they were
becoming for a time inadequate to their duties. She answered her
uncle now by gently pulling his ears, but she said nothing.
'Sit down with us, Marie, to oblige me,' said Madame Voss.
'I had rather not, aunt. It is foolish to sit at supper and not
eat. I have taken my supper already.' Then she moved away, and
hovered round the two strangers at the end of the room. After
supper Michel Voss and the young man--Adrian Urmand by name--lit
their cigars and seated themselves on a bench outside the front
door. 'Have you never said a word to her?' said Michel.
'Well;--a word; yes.'
'But you have not asked her--; you know what I mean;--asked her
whether she could love you.'
'Well,--yes. I have said as much as that, but I have never got an
answer. And when I did ask her, she merely left me. She is not
much given to talking.'
'She will not make the worse wife, my friend, because she is not
much given to such talking as that. When she is out with me on a
Sunday afternoon she has chat enough. By St. James, she'll talk for
two hours without stopping when I'm so out of breath with the hill
that I haven't a word.'
'I don't doubt she can talk.'
'That she can; and manage a house better than any girl I ever saw.
You ask her aunt.'
'I know what her aunt thinks of her. Madame Voss says that neither
you nor she can afford to part with her.'
Michel Voss was silent for a moment. It was dusk, and no one could
see him as he brushed a tear from each eye with the back of his
hand. 'I'll tell you what, Urmand,--it will break my heart to lose
her. Do you see how she comes to me and comforts me? But if it
broke my heart, and broke the house too, I would not keep her here.
It isn't fit. If you like her, and she can like you, it will be a
good match for her. You have my leave to ask her. She brought
nothing here, but she has been a good girl, a very good girl, and
she will not leave the house empty-handed.'
Adrian Urmand was a linen-buyer from Basle, and was known to have a
good share in a good business. He was a handsome young man too,
though rather small, and perhaps a little too apt to wear rings on
his fingers and to show jewelry on his shirt-front and about his
waistcoat. So at least said some of the young people of Granpere,
where rings and gold studs are not so common as they are at Basle.
But he was one who understood his business, and did not neglect it;
he had money too; and was therefore such a young man that Michel
Voss felt that he might give his niece to him without danger, if he
and she could manage to like each other sufficiently. As to
Urmand's liking, there was no doubt. Urmand was ready enough.
'I will see if she will speak to me just now,' said Urmand after a
pause.
'Shall her aunt try it, or shall I do it?' said Michel.
But Adrian Urmand thought that part of the pleasure of love lay in
the making of it himself. So he declined the innkeeper's offer, at
any rate for the present occasion. 'Perhaps,' said he, 'Madame Voss
will say a word for me after I have spoken for myself.'
'So let it be,' said the landlord. And then they finished their
cigars in silence.
It was in vain that Adrian Urmand tried that night to obtain
audience from Marie. Marie, as though she well knew what was wanted
of her and was determined to thwart her lover, would not allow
herself to be found alone for a moment. When Adrian presented
himself at the window of her little bar, he found that Peter was
with her, and she managed to keep Peter with her till Adrian was
gone. And again, when he hoped to find her alone for a few moments
after the work of the day was over in the small parlour where she
was accustomed to sit for some half hour before she would go up to
her room, he was again disappointed. She was already up-stairs with
her aunt and the children, and all Michel Voss's good nature in
keeping out of the way was of no avail.
But Urmand was determined not to be beaten. He intended to return
to Basle on the next day but one, and desired to put this matter a
little in forwardness before he took his departure. On the
following morning he had various appointments to keep with
countrymen and their wives, who sold linen to him, but he was quick
over his business and managed to get back to the inn early in the
afternoon. From six till eight he well knew that Marie would allow
nothing to impede her in the grand work of preparing for supper; but
at four o'clock she would certainly be sitting somewhere about the
house with her needle in her hand. At four o'clock he found her,
not with her needle in her hand, but, better still, perfectly idle.
She was standing at an open window, looking out upon the garden as
he came behind her, standing motionless with both hands on the sill
of the window, thinking deeply of something that filled her mind.
It might be that she was thinking of him.
'I have done with my customers now, and I shall be off to Basle
to-morrow,' said he, as soon as she had looked round at the sound of
his footsteps and perceived that he was close to her.
'I hope you have bought your goods well, M. Urmand.'
'Ah! for the matter of that the time for buying things well is clean
gone. One used to be able to buy well; but there is not an old
woman now in Alsace who doesn't know as well as I do, or better,
what linen is worth in Berne and Paris. They expect to get nearly
as much for it here at Granpere.'
'They work hard, M. Urmand, and things are dearer than they were.
It is well that they should get a price for their labour.'
'A price, yes:--but how is a man to buy without a profit? They
think that I come here for their sakes,--merely to bring the market
to their doors.' Then he began to remember that he had no special
object in discussing the circumstances of his trade with Marie
Bromar, and that he had a special object in another direction. But
how to turn the subject was now a difficulty.
'I am sure you do not buy without a profit,' said Marie Bromar, when
she found that he was silent. 'And then the poor people, who have
to pay so dear for everything!' She was making a violent attempt to
keep him on the ground of his customers and his purchases.
'There was another thing that I wanted to say to you, Marie,' he
began at last abruptly.
'Another thing,' said Marie, knowing that the hour had come.
'Yes;--another thing. I daresay you know what it is. I need not
tell you now that I love you, need I, Marie? You know as well as I
do what I think of you.'
'No, I don't,' said Marie, not intending to encourage him to tell
her, but simply saying that which came easiest to her at the moment.
'I think this,--that if you will consent to be my wife, I shall be a
very happy man. That is all. Everybody knows how pretty you are,
and how good, and how clever; but I do not think that anybody loves
you better than I do. Can you say that you will love me, Marie?
Your uncle approves of it,--and your aunt.' He had now come quite
close to her, and having placed his hand behind her back, was
winding his arm round her waist.
'I will not have you do that, M. Urmand,' she said, escaping from
his embrace.
'But that is no answer. Can you love me, Marie?'
'No,' she said, hardly whispering the word between her teeth.
'And is that to be all?'
'What more can I say?'
'But your uncle wishes it, and your aunt. Dear Marie, can you not
try to love me?'
'I know they wish it. It is easy enough for a girl to see when such
things are wished or when they are forbidden. Of course I know that
uncle wishes it. And he is very good;--and so are you, I daresay.
And I'm sure I ought to be very proud, because you are so much above
me.'
'I am not a bit above you. If you knew what I think, you wouldn't
say so.'
'But--'
'Well, Marie. Think a moment, dearest, before you give me an answer
that shall make me either happy or miserable.'
'I have thought. I would almost burn myself in the fire, if uncle
wished it.'
'And he does wish this.'
'But I cannot do this even because he wishes it.'
'Why not, Marie?'
'I prefer being as I am. I do not wish to leave the hotel, or to be
married at all.'
'Nay, Marie, you will certainly be married some day.'
'No; there is no such certainty. Some girls never get married. I
am of use here, and I am happy here.'
'Ah! it is because you cannot love me.'
'I don't suppose I shall ever love any one, not in that way. I must
go away now, M. Urmand, because I am wanted below.'
She did go, and Adrian Urmand spoke no farther word of love to her
on that occasion.
'I will speak to her about it myself,' said Michel Voss, when he
heard his young friend's story that evening, seated again upon the
bench outside the door, and smoking another cigar.
'It will be of no use,' said Adrian.
'One never knows,' said Michel. 'Young women are queer cattle to
take to market. One can never be quite certain which way they want
to go. After you are off to-morrow, I will have a few words with
her. She does not quite understand as yet that she must make her
hay while the sun shines. Some of 'em are all in a hurry to get
married, and some of 'em again are all for hanging back, when their
friends wish it. It's natural, I believe, that they should be
contrary. But Marie is as good as the best of them, and when I
speak to her, she'll hear reason.'
Adrian Urmand had no alternative but to assent to the innkeeper's
proposition. The idea of making love second-hand was not pleasant
to him; but he could not hinder the uncle from speaking his mind to
the niece. One little suggestion he did make before he took his
departure. 'It can't be, I suppose, that there is any one else that
she likes better?' To this Michel Voss made no answer in words, but
shook his head in a fashion that made Adrian feel assured that there
was no danger on that head.
But Michel Voss, though he had shaken his head in a manner so
satisfactory, had feared that there was such danger. He had
considered himself justified in shaking his head, but would not be
so false as to give in words the assurance which Adrian had asked.
That night he discussed the matter with his wife, declaring it as
his purpose that Marie Bromar should marry Adrian Urmand. 'It is
impossible that she should do better,' said Michel.
'It would be very well,' said Madame Voss.
'Very well! Why, he is worth thirty thousand francs, and is as
steady at his business as his father was before him.'
'He is a dandy.'
'Psha! that is nothing!' said Michel.
'And he is too fond of money.'
'It is a fault on the right side,' said Michel. 'His wife and
children will not come to want.'
Madame Voss paused a moment before she made her last and grand
objection to the match. 'It is my belief,' said she, 'that Marie is
always thinking of George.'
'Then she had better cease to think of him,' said Michel; 'for
George is not thinking of her.' He said nothing farther, but
resolved to speak his own mind freely to Marie Bromar.