Michel Voss at this time was a very unhappy man. He had taught
himself to believe that it would be a good thing that his niece
should marry Adrian Urmand, and that it was his duty to achieve this
good thing in her behalf. He had had it on his mind for the last
year, and had nearly brought it to pass. There was, moreover, now,
at this present moment, a clear duty on him to be true to the young
man who with his consent, and indeed very much at his instance, had
become betrothed to Marie Bromar. The reader will understand how
ideas of duty, not very clearly looked into or analysed, acted upon
his mind. And then there was always present to him a recurrence of
that early caution which had made him lay a parental embargo upon
anything like love between his son and his wife's niece. Without
much thinking about it,--for he probably never thought very much
about anything,--he had deemed it prudent to separate two young
people brought up together, when they began, as he fancied, to be
foolish. An elderly man is so apt to look upon his own son as a
boy, and on a girl who has grown up under his nose as little more
than a child! And then George in those days had had no business of
his own, and should not have thought of such a thing! In this way
the mind of Michel Voss had been forced into strong hostility
against the idea of a marriage between Marie and his son, and had
filled itself with the spirit of a partisan on the side of Adrian
Urmand. But now, as things had gone, he had been made very unhappy
by the state of his own mind, and consequently was beginning to feel
a great dislike for the merchant from Basle. The stupid mean little
fellow, with his white pocket-handkerchief, and his scent, and his
black greasy hair, had made his way into the house and had destroyed
all comfort and pleasure! That was the light in which Michel was
now disposed to regard his previously honoured guest. When he made
a comparison between Adrian and George, he could not but acknowledge
that any girl of spirit and sense would prefer his son. He was very
proud of his son,--proud even of the lad's disobedience to himself
on such a subject; and this feeling added to his discomfort.
He had twice seen Marie in her bed during that day spoken of in the
last chapter. On both occasions he had meant to be very firm; but
it was not easy for such a one as Michel Voss to be firm to a young
woman in her night-cap, rather pale, whose eyes were red with
weeping. A woman in bed was to him always an object of tenderness,
and a woman in tears, as his wife well knew, could on most occasions
get the better of him. When he first saw Marie, he merely told her
to lie still and take a little broth. He kissed her however and
patted her cheek, and then got out of the room as quickly as he
could. He knew his own weakness, and was afraid to trust himself to
her prayers while she lay before him in that guise. When he went
again, he had been unable not to listen to a word or two which she
had prepared, and had ready for instant speech. 'Uncle Michel,' she
said, 'I will never marry any one without your leave, if you will
let M. Urmand go away.' He had almost come to wish by this time
that M. Urmand would go away and never come back again. 'How am I
to send him away?' he had said crossly. 'If you tell him, I know he
will go,--at once,' said Marie. Michel had muttered something about
Marie's illness and the impossibility of doing anything at present,
and again had left the room. Then Marie began to take heart of grace,
and to think that victory might yet be on her side. But how was
George to know that she was firmly determined to throw those odious
betrothals to the wind? Feeling it to be absolutely incumbent on her
to convey to him this knowledge, she wrote the few words which the
servant conveyed to her lover,--making no promise in regard to him,
but simply assuring him that she would never,--never,--never become
the wife of that other man.
Early on the following morning Michel Voss went off by himself. He
could not stay in bed, and he could not hang about the house. He
did not know how to demean himself to either of the young men when
he met them. He could not be cordial as he ought to be with Urmand;
nor could he be austere to George with that austerity which he felt
would have been proper on his part. He was becoming very tired of
his dignity and authority. Hitherto the exercise of power in his
household had generally been easy enough, his wife and Marie had
always been loving and pleasant in their obedience. Till within
these last weeks there had even been the most perfect accordance
between him and his niece. 'Send him away;--that's very easily
said,' he muttered to himself as he went up towards the mountains;
'but he has got my engagement, and of course he'll hold me to it.'
He trudged on, he hardly knew whither. He was so unhappy, that the
mills and the timber-cutting were nothing to him. When he had
walked himself into a heat, he sat down and took out his pipe, but
he smoked more by habit than for enjoyment. Supposing that he did
bring himself to change his mind,--which he did not think he ever
would,--how could he break the matter to Urmand? He told himself
that he was sure he would not change his mind, because of his solemn
engagement to the young man; but he did acknowledge that the young
man was not what he had taken him to be. He was effeminate, and
wanted spirit, and smelt of hair-grease. Michel had discovered none
of these defects,--had perhaps regarded the characteristics as
meritorious rather than otherwise,--while he had been hotly in
favour of the marriage. Then the hair-grease and the rest of it had
in his eyes simply been signs of the civilisation of the town as
contrasted with the rusticity of the country. It was then a great
thing in his eyes that Marie should marry a man so polished, though
much of the polish may have come from pomade. Now his ideas were
altered, and, as he sat alone upon the log, he continued to turn up
his nose at poor M. Urmand. But how was he to be rid of him,--and,
if not of him, what was he to do then? Was he to let all authority
go by the board, and allow the two young people to marry, although
the whole village heard how he had pledged himself in this matter?
As he was sitting there, suddenly his son came upon him. He frowned
and went on smoking, though at heart he felt grateful to George for
having found him out and followed him. He was altogether tired of
being alone, or, worse than that, of being left together with Adrian
Urmand. But the overtures for a general reconciliation could not
come first from him, nor could any be entertained without at least
some show of obedience. 'I thought I should find you up here,' said
George.
'And now you have found me, what of that?'
'I fancy we can talk better, father, up among the woods, than we can
down there when that young man is hanging about. We always used to
have a chat up here, you know.'
'It was different then,' said Michel. 'That was before you had
learned to think it a fine thing to be your own master and to oppose
me in everything.'
'I have never opposed you but in one thing, father.'
'Ah, yes; in one thing. But that one thing is everything. Here
I've been doing the best I could for both of you, striving to put
you upon your legs, and make you a man and her a woman, and this is
the return I get!'
'But what would you have had me do?'
'What would I have had you do? Not come here and oppose me in
everything.'
'But when this Adrian Urmand--'
'I am sick of Adrian Urmand,' said Michel Voss. George raised his
eyebrows and stared. 'I don't mean that,' said he; 'but I am
beginning to hate the very sight of the man. If he'd had the pluck
of a wren, he would have carried her off long ago.'
'I don't know how that may be, but he hasn't done it yet. Come,
father; you don't like the man any more than she does. If you get
tired of him in three days, what would she do in her whole life?'
'Why did she accept him, then?'
'Perhaps, father, we were all to blame a little in that.'
'I was not to blame--not in the least. I won't admit it. I did the
best I could for her. She accepted him, and they are betrothed.
The Cure down there says it's nearly as good as being married.'
'Who cares what Father Gondin says?' asked George.
'I'm sure I don't,' said Michel Voss.
'The betrothal means nothing, father, if either of them choose to
change their minds. There was that girl over at Saint Die.'
'Don't tell me of the girl at Saint Die. I'm sick of hearing of the
girl at Saint Die. What the mischief is the girl at Saint Die to
us? We've got to do our duty if we can, like honest men and women;
and not follow vagaries learned from Saint Die.'
The two men walked down the hill together, reaching the hotel about
noon. Long before that time the innkeeper had fallen into a way of
acknowledging that Adrian Urmand was an incubus; but he had not as
yet quite admitted that there was any way of getting rid of the
incubus. The idea of having the marriage on the 1st of the present
month was altogether abandoned, and Michel had already asked how
they might manage among them to send Adrian Urmand back to Basle.
'He must come again, if he chooses,' he had said; 'but I suppose he
had better go now. Marie is ill, and she mustn't be worried.'
George proposed that his father should tell this to Urmand himself;
but it seemed that Michel, who had never yet been known to be afraid
of any man, was in some degree afraid of the little Swiss merchant.
'Suppose my mother says a word to him,' suggested George.
'She wouldn't dare for her life,' answered the father.
'I would do it.'
'No, indeed, George; you shall do no such thing.'
Then George suggested the priest; but nothing had been settled when
they reached the inn-door. There he was, swinging a cane at the
foot of the billiard-room stairs--the little bug-a-boo, who was now
so much in the way of all of them! The innkeeper muttered some
salutation, and George just touched his hat. Then they both passed
on, and went into the house.
Unfortunately the plea of Marie's illness was in part cut from under
their feet by the appearance of Marie herself. George, who had not
as yet seen her, went up quickly to her, and, without saying a word,
took her by the hand and held it. Marie murmured some pretence at a
salutation, but what she said was heard by no one. When her uncle
came to her and kissed her, her hand was still grasped in that of
George. All this had taken place in the passage; and before
Michel's embrace was over, Adrian Urmand was standing in the doorway
looking on. George, when he saw him, held tighter by the hand, and
Marie made no attempt to draw it away.
'What is the meaning of all this?' said Urmand, coming up.
'Meaning of what?' asked Michel.
'I don't understand it--I don't understand it at all,' said Urmand.
'Don't understand what?' said Michel. The two lovers were still
holding each other's hands; but Michel had not seen it; or, seeing
it, had not observed it.
'Am I to understand that Marie Bromar is betrothed to me, or not?'
demanded Adrian. 'When I get an answer either way, I shall know
what to do.' There was in this an assumption of more spirit than
had been expected on his part by his enemies at the Lion d'Or.
'Why shouldn't you be betrothed to her?' said Michel. 'Of course
you are betrothed to her; but I don't see what is the use of your
talking so much about it.'
'It is the first time I have said a word on the subject since I've
been here,' said Urmand. Which was true; but as Michel was
continually thinking of the betrothal, he imagined that everybody
was always talking to him of the matter. Marie had now managed to
get her hand free, and had retired into the kitchen. Michel
followed her, and stood meditative, with his back to the large
stove. As it happened, there was no one else present there at the
moment.
'Tell him to go back to Basle,' whispered Marie to her uncle.
Michel only shook his head and groaned.
'I don't think I am at all well-treated here among you,' said Adrian
Urmand to George as soon as they were alone.
'Any special friendship from me you can hardly expect,' said George.
'As to my father and the rest of them, if they ill-treat you, I
suppose you had better leave them.'
'I won't put up with ill-treatment from anybody. It's not what I'm
used to.'
'Look here, M. Urmand,' said George. 'I quite admit you have been
badly used; and, on the part of the family, I am ready to
apologise.'
'I don't want any apology.'
'What do you want, M. Urmand?'
'I want--I want--Never mind what I want. It is from your father
that I shall demand it, not from you. I shall take care to see
myself righted. I know the French law as well as the Swiss.'
'If you're talking of law, you had better go back to Basle and get a
lawyer,' said George.
There had been no word spoken of George returning to Colmar on that
morning. He had told his father that he had brought nothing with
him but what he had on; and in truth when he left Colmar he had not
looked forward to any welcome which would induce him to remain at
Granpere. But the course of things had been different from that
which he had expected. He was much too good a general to think of
returning now, and he had friends in the house who knew how to
supply him with what was most necessary to him. Nobody had asked
him to stay. His father had not uttered a word of welcome. But he
did stay, and Michel would have been very much surprised indeed if
he had heard that he had gone. The man in the stable had ventured
to suggest that the old mare would not be wanted to go over the
mountain that day. To this George assented, and made special
request that the old mare might receive gentle treatment.
And so the day passed away. Marie, who had recovered her health,
was busy as usual about the house. George and Urmand, though they
did not associate, were rarely long out of each other's sight; and
neither the one nor the other found much opportunity for pressing
his suit. George probably felt that there was not much need to do
so, and Urmand must have known that any pressing of his suit in the
ordinary way would be of no avail. The innkeeper tried to make work
for himself about the place, had the carriages out and washed,
inspected the horses, and gave orders as to the future slaughter of
certain pigs. Everybody about the house, nevertheless, down to the
smallest boy attached to the inn, knew that the landlord's mind was
pre-occupied with the love affairs of those two men. There was
hardly an inhabitant of Granpere who did not understand what was
going on; and, had it been the custom of the place to make bets on
such matters, very long odds would have been wanted before any one
would have backed Adrian Urmand. And yet two days ago he was
considered to be sure of the prize. M. le Cure Gondin was a good
deal at the hotel during the day, and perhaps he was the staunchest
supporter of the Swiss aspirant. He endeavoured to support Madame
Voss, having that strong dislike to yield an inch in practice or in
doctrine, which is indicative of his order. He strove hard to make
Madame Voss understand that if only she would be firm and cause her
husband to be firm also, Marie would, of course, yield at last. 'I
have ever so many young women just in the same way,' said the Cure,
'and you would have thought they were going to break their hearts;
but as soon as ever they have been married, they have forgotten all
that.' Madame Voss would have been quite contented to comply with
the priest's counsel, could she have seen the way with her husband.
But it had become almost manifest even to her, with the Cure to
support her, that the star of Adrian Urmand was on the wane. She
felt from every word that Marie spoke to her, that Marie herself was
confident of success. And it may be said of Madame Voss, that
although she had been forced by Michel into a kind of enthusiasm on
behalf of the Swiss marriage, she had no very eager wishes of her
own on the subject. Marie was her own niece, and was dear to her;
but the girl was sure of a well-to-do husband whichever way the war
went; and what aunt need desire more for her most favourite niece
than a well-to-do husband?
The day went by, and the supper was eaten, and the cigars were
smoked, and then they all went to bed. But nothing more had been
settled. That obstinate young man, M. Adrian Urmand, though he had
talked of his lawyer, had said not a word of going back to Basle.