The Golden Lion of Granpere

  CHAPTER XIX.

  Michel Voss at this time was a very unhappy man. He had taughthimself to believe that it would be a good thing that his nieceshould marry Adrian Urmand, and that it was his duty to achieve thisgood thing in her behalf. He had had it on his mind for the lastyear, 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 youngman who with his consent, and indeed very much at his instance, hadbecome betrothed to Marie Bromar. The reader will understand howideas of duty, not very clearly looked into or analysed, acted uponhis mind. And then there was always present to him a recurrence ofthat early caution which had made him lay a parental embargo uponanything like love between his son and his wife's niece. Withoutmuch thinking about it,--for he probably never thought very muchabout anything,--he had deemed it prudent to separate two youngpeople brought up together, when they began, as he fancied, to befoolish. An elderly man is so apt to look upon his own son as aboy, and on a girl who has grown up under his nose as little morethan a child! And then George in those days had had no business ofhis own, and should not have thought of such a thing! In this waythe mind of Michel Voss had been forced into strong hostilityagainst the idea of a marriage between Marie and his son, and hadfilled itself with the spirit of a partisan on the side of AdrianUrmand. But now, as things had gone, he had been made very unhappyby the state of his own mind, and consequently was beginning to feela great dislike for the merchant from Basle. The stupid mean littlefellow, with his white pocket-handkerchief, and his scent, and hisblack greasy hair, had made his way into the house and had destroyedall comfort and pleasure! That was the light in which Michel wasnow disposed to regard his previously honoured guest. When he madea comparison between Adrian and George, he could not but acknowledgethat any girl of spirit and sense would prefer his son. He was veryproud of his son,--proud even of the lad's disobedience to himselfon such a subject; and this feeling added to his discomfort.

  He had twice seen Marie in her bed during that day spoken of in thelast chapter. On both occasions he had meant to be very firm; butit was not easy for such a one as Michel Voss to be firm to a youngwoman in her night-cap, rather pale, whose eyes were red withweeping. 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 occasionsget the better of him. When he first saw Marie, he merely told herto lie still and take a little broth. He kissed her however andpatted her cheek, and then got out of the room as quickly as hecould. He knew his own weakness, and was afraid to trust himself toher prayers while she lay before him in that guise. When he wentagain, he had been unable not to listen to a word or two which shehad prepared, and had ready for instant speech. 'Uncle Michel,' shesaid, 'I will never marry any one without your leave, if you willlet M. Urmand go away.' He had almost come to wish by this timethat M. Urmand would go away and never come back again. 'How am Ito send him away?' he had said crossly. 'If you tell him, I know hewill go,--at once,' said Marie. Michel had muttered something aboutMarie'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 wasGeorge to know that she was firmly determined to throw those odiousbetrothals to the wind? Feeling it to be absolutely incumbent on herto convey to him this knowledge, she wrote the few words which theservant conveyed to her lover,--making no promise in regard to him,but simply assuring him that she would never,--never,--never becomethe wife of that other man.

  Early on the following morning Michel Voss went off by himself. Hecould not stay in bed, and he could not hang about the house. Hedid not know how to demean himself to either of the young men whenhe 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 feltwould have been proper on his part. He was becoming very tired ofhis dignity and authority. Hitherto the exercise of power in hishousehold had generally been easy enough, his wife and Marie hadalways been loving and pleasant in their obedience. Till withinthese last weeks there had even been the most perfect accordancebetween him and his niece. 'Send him away;--that's very easilysaid,' 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 themills and the timber-cutting were nothing to him. When he hadwalked himself into a heat, he sat down and took out his pipe, buthe smoked more by habit than for enjoyment. Supposing that he didbring himself to change his mind,--which he did not think he everwould,--how could he break the matter to Urmand? He told himselfthat he was sure he would not change his mind, because of his solemnengagement to the young man; but he did acknowledge that the youngman was not what he had taken him to be. He was effeminate, andwanted spirit, and smelt of hair-grease. Michel had discovered noneof these defects,--had perhaps regarded the characteristics asmeritorious rather than otherwise,--while he had been hotly infavour of the marriage. Then the hair-grease and the rest of it hadin his eyes simply been signs of the civilisation of the town ascontrasted with the rusticity of the country. It was then a greatthing in his eyes that Marie should marry a man so polished, thoughmuch of the polish may have come from pomade. Now his ideas werealtered, and, as he sat alone upon the log, he continued to turn uphis 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 authoritygo by the board, and allow the two young people to marry, althoughthe whole village heard how he had pledged himself in this matter?

  As he was sitting there, suddenly his son came upon him. He frownedand went on smoking, though at heart he felt grateful to George forhaving found him out and followed him. He was altogether tired ofbeing alone, or, worse than that, of being left together with AdrianUrmand. But the overtures for a general reconciliation could notcome first from him, nor could any be entertained without at leastsome show of obedience. 'I thought I should find you up here,' saidGeorge.

  'And now you have found me, what of that?'

  'I fancy we can talk better, father, up among the woods, than we candown there when that young man is hanging about. We always used tohave a chat up here, you know.'

  'It was different then,' said Michel. 'That was before you hadlearned to think it a fine thing to be your own master and to opposeme in everything.'

  'I have never opposed you but in one thing, father.'

  'Ah, yes; in one thing. But that one thing is everything. HereI've been doing the best I could for both of you, striving to putyou upon your legs, and make you a man and her a woman, and this isthe return I get!'

  'But what would you have had me do?'

  'What would I have had you do? Not come here and oppose me ineverything.'

  'But when this Adrian Urmand--'

  'I am sick of Adrian Urmand,' said Michel Voss. George raised hiseyebrows and stared. 'I don't mean that,' said he; 'but I ambeginning to hate the very sight of the man. If he'd had the pluckof 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 gettired 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 thebest 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 tochange 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 thegirl at Saint Die. What the mischief is the girl at Saint Die tous? 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 aboutnoon. Long before that time the innkeeper had fallen into a way ofacknowledging that Adrian Urmand was an incubus; but he had not asyet quite admitted that there was any way of getting rid of theincubus. The idea of having the marriage on the 1st of the presentmonth was altogether abandoned, and Michel had already asked howthey might manage among them to send Adrian Urmand back to Basle.'He must come again, if he chooses,' he had said; 'but I suppose hehad 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 afraidof 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 whenthey reached the inn-door. There he was, swinging a cane at thefoot of the billiard-room stairs--the little bug-a-boo, who was nowso much in the way of all of them! The innkeeper muttered somesalutation, and George just touched his hat. Then they both passedon, and went into the house.

  Unfortunately the plea of Marie's illness was in part cut from undertheir feet by the appearance of Marie herself. George, who had notas 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 asalutation, but what she said was heard by no one. When her unclecame to her and kissed her, her hand was still grasped in that ofGeorge. All this had taken place in the passage; and beforeMichel's embrace was over, Adrian Urmand was standing in the doorwaylooking on. George, when he saw him, held tighter by the hand, andMarie 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 stillholding each other's hands; but Michel had not seen it; or, seeingit, 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 knowwhat to do.' There was in this an assumption of more spirit thanhad been expected on his part by his enemies at the Lion d'Or.

  'Why shouldn't you be betrothed to her?' said Michel. 'Of courseyou are betrothed to her; but I don't see what is the use of yourtalking so much about it.'

  'It is the first time I have said a word on the subject since I'vebeen here,' said Urmand. Which was true; but as Michel wascontinually thinking of the betrothal, he imagined that everybodywas always talking to him of the matter. Marie had now managed toget her hand free, and had retired into the kitchen. Michelfollowed her, and stood meditative, with his back to the largestove. As it happened, there was no one else present there at themoment.

  '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 AdrianUrmand 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, Isuppose you had better leave them.'

  'I won't put up with ill-treatment from anybody. It's not what I'mused to.'

  'Look here, M. Urmand,' said George. 'I quite admit you have beenbadly used; and, on the part of the family, I am ready toapologise.'

  '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 fatherthat I shall demand it, not from you. I shall take care to seemyself 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 alawyer,' said George.

  There had been no word spoken of George returning to Colmar on thatmorning. He had told his father that he had brought nothing withhim but what he had on; and in truth when he left Colmar he had notlooked forward to any welcome which would induce him to remain atGranpere. But the course of things had been different from thatwhich he had expected. He was much too good a general to think ofreturning now, and he had friends in the house who knew how tosupply him with what was most necessary to him. Nobody had askedhim to stay. His father had not uttered a word of welcome. But hedid stay, and Michel would have been very much surprised indeed ifhe had heard that he had gone. The man in the stable had venturedto suggest that the old mare would not be wanted to go over themountain that day. To this George assented, and made specialrequest 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 theydid not associate, were rarely long out of each other's sight; andneither the one nor the other found much opportunity for pressinghis suit. George probably felt that there was not much need to doso, and Urmand must have known that any pressing of his suit in theordinary way would be of no avail. The innkeeper tried to make workfor himself about the place, had the carriages out and washed,inspected the horses, and gave orders as to the future slaughter ofcertain pigs. Everybody about the house, nevertheless, down to thesmallest boy attached to the inn, knew that the landlord's mind waspre-occupied with the love affairs of those two men. There washardly an inhabitant of Granpere who did not understand what wasgoing on; and, had it been the custom of the place to make bets onsuch matters, very long odds would have been wanted before any onewould have backed Adrian Urmand. And yet two days ago he wasconsidered to be sure of the prize. M. le Cure Gondin was a gooddeal at the hotel during the day, and perhaps he was the staunchestsupporter of the Swiss aspirant. He endeavoured to support MadameVoss, having that strong dislike to yield an inch in practice or indoctrine, which is indicative of his order. He strove hard to makeMadame Voss understand that if only she would be firm and cause herhusband to be firm also, Marie would, of course, yield at last. 'Ihave 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 allthat.' Madame Voss would have been quite contented to comply withthe priest's counsel, could she have seen the way with her husband.But it had become almost manifest even to her, with the Cure tosupport her, that the star of Adrian Urmand was on the wane. Shefelt from every word that Marie spoke to her, that Marie herself wasconfident of success. And it may be said of Madame Voss, thatalthough she had been forced by Michel into a kind of enthusiasm onbehalf of the Swiss marriage, she had no very eager wishes of herown 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 warwent; and what aunt need desire more for her most favourite niecethan a well-to-do husband?

  The day went by, and the supper was eaten, and the cigars weresmoked, and then they all went to bed. But nothing more had beensettled. That obstinate young man, M. Adrian Urmand, though he hadtalked of his lawyer, had said not a word of going back to Basle.