to say, and what was he to do when he got to Granpere, a place which he almost wished that he had never seen in spite of those profitable linen-buyings?  And now when Michel Voss began to talk to him about the scenery, and what this man up in the mountain did in the winter,—­at this moment when his terrible trouble was so very near him,—­he felt it to be an insult, or at least a cruelty.  ’What can he do from December till April except smoke and drink?’ asked Michel Voss.

‘I don’t care what he does,’ said Urmand, turning away.  ’I only know I wish I’d never come here.’

‘Take a glass of wine, my friend,’ said Michel.  ’The mountain air has made you chill.’  Urmand took the glass of wine, but it did not cheer him much.  ’We shall have it all right before the day is over,’ continued Michel.

‘I don’t think it will ever be all right,’ said the other.

’And why not?  The fact is, you don’t understand young women; as how should you, seeing that you have not had to manage them?  You do as I tell you, and just be round with her.  You tell her that you don’t desire any change yourself, and that after what has passed you can’t allow her to think of such a thing.  You speak as though you had a downright claim, as you have; and all will come right.  It’s not that she cares for him, you know.  You must remember that.  She has never even said a word of that kind.  I haven’t a doubt on my mind as to which she really likes best; but it’s that stupid promise, and the way that George has had of making her believe that she is bound by the first word she ever spoke to a young man.  It’s only nonsense, and of course we must get over it.’  Then they were summoned out, the horse having finished his meal, and were rattled down the hill into Granpere without many more words between them.

One other word was spoken, and that word was hardly pleasant in its tone.  Urmand at least did not relish it.  ’I shall go away at once if she doesn’t treat me as she ought,’ said he, just as they were entering the village.

Michel was silent for a moment before he answered.  ’You’ll behave, I’m sure, as a man ought to behave to a young woman whom he intends to make his wife.’  The words themselves were civil enough; but there was a tone in the innkeeper’s voice and a flame in his eye, which made Urmand almost feel that he had been threatened.  Then they drove into the space in front of the door of the Lion d’Or.

Michel had made for himself no plan whatsoever.  He led the way at once into the house, and Urmand followed, hardly daring to look up into the faces of the persons around him.  They were both of them soon in the presence of Madame Voss, but Marie Bromar was not there.  Marie had been sharp enough to perceive who was coming before they were out of the carriage, and was already ensconced in some safer retreat up-stairs, in which she could meditate on her plan of the campaign.  ‘Look lively, and