CHAPTER XX.
It is probable that all those concerned in the matter who slept atthe Lion d'Or that night, made up their minds that on the followingday the powers of the establishment must come to some decision. Itwas not right that a young woman should have to live in the housewith two favoured lovers; nor, as regarded the young men, was itright that they should be allowed to go on glaring at each other.Both Michel and Madame Voss feared that they would do more thanglare, seeing that they were so like two dogs with one bone betweenthem, who, in such an emergency, will generally fight. Urmandhimself was quite alive to the necessity of putting an end to hispresent exceptionally disagreeable position. He was very angry;very angry naturally with Marie, who had, he thought, treated himvillainously. Why had she made that little soft, languid promise tohim when he was last at Granpere, if she had not then loved him?And of course he was angry with George Voss. What unsuccessfullover fails of being angry with his happy rival? And then Georgehad behaved with outrageous impropriety. Urmand was beginning nowto have a clear insight of the circumstances. George and Marie hadbeen lovers, and then George, having been sent away, had forgottenhis love for a year or more. But when the girl had beenaccommodated with another lover, then he thrust himself forward anddisturbed everybody's arrangements! No conduct could have beenworse than this. But, nevertheless, Urmand's anger was the hottestagainst Michel Voss himself. Had he been left alone at Basle, hadhe been allowed to receive Marie's letter, and act upon it inaccordance with his own judgment, he would never have made himselfridiculous by appearing at Granpere as a discomfited lover.But the innkeeper had come and dragged him away from home, hadmisrepresented everything, had carried him away, as it were, byforce to the scene of his disgrace, and now--threw him over! He, atany rate, he, Michel Voss, should, as Adrian Urmand felt verybitterly, have been true and constant; but Michel, whose face couldnot lie, whatever his words might do, was clearly as anxious to berid of his young friend as were any of the others in the hotel.Urmand himself would have been very glad to be back at Basle. Hehad come to regard any farther connection with the inn at Granpereas extremely undesirable. The Voss family was low. He had foundthat out during his present visit. But how was he to get away, andnot look, as he was going, like a dog with his tail between hislegs? He had so clear a right to demand Marie's hand, that he couldnot bring himself to bear to be robbed of his claim. And yet he hadcome to perceive how very foolish such a marriage would be. He hadbeen told that he could do better. Of course he could do better.But how could he be rid of his bargain without submitting toill-treatment? If Michel had not come and fetched him away from hishome the ill-treatment would have been by comparison slight, and ofthat normal kind to which young men are accustomed. But to bebrought over to the house, and then to be deserted by everybody inthe house! How, O how, was he to get out of the house? Such werehis reflections as he sat solitary in the long public room drinkinghis coffee, and eating an omelet, with which Peter Veque hadsupplied him, but which had in truth been cooked for him verycarefully by Marie Bromar herself. In her present frame of mindMarie would have cooked ortolans for him had he wished for them.
And while Urmand was eating his omelet and thinking of his wrongs,Michel Voss and his son were standing together at the stable door.Michel had been there some time before his son had joined him, andwhen George came up to him he put out his hand almost furtively.George grasped it instantly, and then there came a tear into theinnkeeper's eye. 'I have brought you a little of that tobacco wewere talking of,' said George, taking a small packet out of hispocket.
'Thank ye, George; thank ye; but it does not much matter now what Ismoke. Things are going wrong, and I don't get satisfaction out ofanything.'
'Don't say that, father.'
'How can I help saying it? Look at that fellow up there. What am Ito do with him? What am I to say to him? He means to stay theretill he gets his wife.'
'He'll never get a wife here, if he stays till the house falls onhim.'
'I can see that now. But what am I to say to him? How am I to getrid of him? There is no denying, you know, that he has been treatedbadly among us.'
'Would he take a little money, father?'
'No. He's not so bad as that.'
'I should not have thought so; only he talked to me about hislawyer.'
'Ah;--he did that in his anger. By George, if I was in his positionI should try and raise the very devil. But don't talk of giving himmoney, George. He's not bad in that way.'
'He shouldn't have said anything about his lawyer.'
'You wait till you're placed as he is, and you'll find that you'llsay anything that comes uppermost. But what are we to do with him,George?'
Then the matter was discussed in the utmost confidence, and in allits bearings. George offered to have a carriage and pair of horsesgot ready for Remiremont, and then to tell the young man that he wasexpected to get into it, and go away; but Michel felt that theremust be some more ceremonious treatment than that. George thensuggested that the Cure should give the message, but Michel againobjected. The message, he felt, must be given by himself. Thedoing this would be very bitter to him, because it would benecessary that he should humble himself before the scented shinyhead of the little man: but Michel knew that it must be so. Urmandhad been undoubtedly ill-treated among them, and the apology forthat ill-treatment must be made by the chief of the family himself.'I suppose I might as well go to him alone,' said Michel, groaning.
'Well, yes; I should say so,' replied his son. 'Soonest begun,soonest over;--and I suppose I might as well order the horses.'
To this latter suggestion the father made no reply, but went slowlyinto the house. He turned for a moment into Marie's little office,and stood there hesitating whether he would tell her his mission.As she was to be made happy, why should she not know it?
'You two have got the better of me among you,' he said.
'Which two, Uncle Michel?'
'Which two? Why, you and George. And what I'm to do with thegentleman upstairs, it passes me to think. Thank heaven, it will bea great many years before Flos wants a husband.' Flos was thelittle daughter up-stairs, who was as yet no more than five yearsold.
'I hope, Uncle Michel, you'll never have anybody else as naughty andtroublesome as I have been,' said Marie, pressing close to him. Shewas indescribably happy. She was to be saved from the lover whomshe did not want. She was to have the lover whom she did want.And, over and above all this, a spirit of kind feeling and fullsympathy existed once more between her and her dear friend. As sheoffered no advice in regard to the disposal of the gentlemanup-stairs, Michel was obliged to go upon his painful duty, trustingto his own wit.
In the long room up-stairs he found Adrian Urmand sitting at theclosed window, looking out at the ducks who were paddling in atemporary pool made by the late rains. He had been painfully inwant of something to do,--so much so that he had more than oncealmost resolved to put his things into his bag, and leave the housewithout saying a word of farewell to any one. Had there been anymeans for him to escape from Granpere without saying a word, hewould have done so. But at Granpere there was no railway, and theonly public conveyance in and out of the place started from the doorof the Lion d'Or; started every morning, with much ceremony, so thatit was impossible for him to fly unobserved. There he was, watchingthe ducks, when Michel entered the room, and very much disposed toquarrel with any one who approached him.
'I'm afraid you find it rather dull here,' said Michel, beginningthe conversation.
'It is dull; very dull indeed.'
'That is the worst of it. We are dull people here in the country.We have not the distractions which you town folk can always find.There's not much to do, and nothing to look at.'
'Very little to look at, that's worth the trouble of looking,' saidUrmand.
There was a malignity of satire intended in this; for the young manin his wrath, and with a full conviction of what was coming uponhim, had intend
ed to include his betrothed in the catalogue ofthings of Granpere not worthy of inspection. But Michel Voss didnot at all follow him so far as that.
'I never saw such a place,' continued Urmand. 'There isn't a souleven to play a game of billiards with.'
Now Michel Voss, although for a purpose he had been willing to makelittle of his own village, did in truth consider that Granpere wasat any rate as good a place to live in as Basle. And he felt thatthough he might abuse Granpere, it was very uncourteous in AdrianUrmand to do so. 'I don't think much of playing billiards in themorning, I must own,' said he.
'I daresay not,' said Urmand, still looking at the ducks.
Michel had made no progress as yet, so he sat down and scratched hishead. The more he thought of it, the larger the difficulty seemedto be. He was quite aware now that it was his own unfortunatejourney to Basle which had brought so heavy a burden on him. It wasas yet no more than three or four days since he had taken uponhimself to assure the young man that he, by his own authority, wouldmake everything right; and now he was forced to acknowledge thateverything was wrong. 'M. Urmand,' he said at last, 'it has been avery great grief to me, a very great grief indeed, that you shouldhave found things so uncomfortable.'
'What things do you mean?' said Urmand.
'Well--everything--about Marie, you know. When I went over to Baslethe other day, I didn't think how it was going to turn out. Ididn't indeed.'
'And how is it going to turn out?'
'I can't make the young woman consent, you know,' said theinnkeeper.
'Let me tell you, M. Voss, that I wouldn't have the young woman, asyou call her, if she consented ever so much. She has disgraced me.'
To this Michel listened with perfect equanimity.
'She has disgraced you.'
At hearing this Michel bit his lips, telling himself, however, thatthere had been mistakes made, and that he was bound to bear a gooddeal.
'And she has disgraced herself,' said Adrian Urmand, with all theemphasis that he had at command.
'I deny it,' said Marie's uncle, coming close up to his opponent,and standing before him. 'I deny it. It is not true. That shallnot be said in my hearing, even by you.'
'But I do say it. She has disgraced herself. Did she not give meher troth, when all the time she intended to marry another man?'
'No! She did nothing of the kind. And look here, my friend, if youwish to be treated like a man in this house, you had better not sayanything against any of the women who live in it. You may abuse meas much as you please,--and George too, if it will do you any good.There have been mistakes made, and we owe you something.'
'By heavens, yes; you do.'
'But you sha'n't take it out in saying anything against MarieBromar,--not in my hearing.'
'Why;--what will you do?'
'Don't drive me to do anything, M. Urmand. If there is anycompensation possible--'
'Of course there must be compensation.'
'What is it you will take? Is it money?'
'Money;--no. As for money, I'm better off than any of you.'
'What is it, then? You don't want the girl herself?'
'No;--certainly not. I would not take her if she came and knelt tome.'
'What can we do, then? If you will only say.'
'I want--I want--I don't know what I want. I have been cruellyill-used, and made a fool of before everybody. I never heard of sucha case before;--never. And I have been so generous and honest toyou! I did not ask for a franc of dot; and now you come and offer memoney. I don't think any man ever was so badly used anywhere.' Andon saying this Adrian Urmand in very truth burst into tears.
The innkeeper's heart was melted at once. It was all so true!Between them they had treated him very badly. But then there hadbeen so many unfortunate and unavoidable mistakes! When the youngman talked of compensation, what was Michel Voss to think? His sonhad been led into exactly the same error. Nevertheless, he repentedhimself bitterly in that he had said anything about money, and wasprepared to make the most abject apologies. Adrian Urmand hadfallen into a chair, and Michel Voss came and seated himself closebeside him.
'I beg your pardon, Urmand; I do indeed. I ought not to havementioned money. But when you spoke of compensation--'
'It wasn't that. It wasn't that. It's my feelings!'
Then the white cambric handkerchief was taken out and used withconsiderable vehemence.
From that moment the innkeeper's goodwill towards Urmand returned,though of course he was quite aware that there was no place for himin that family.
'If there is anything I can do, I will do it,' said Michelpiteously. 'It has been unfortunate. I know it has been veryunfortunate. But we didn't mean to be untrue.'
'If you had only left me alone when I was at home!' said theunfortunate young man, who was still sobbing bitterly.
They two remained in the long room together for a considerable time,during all of which Michel Voss was as gentle as though Urmand hadbeen a child. Nor did the poor rejected lover again have recourseto any violence of abuse, though he would over and over again repeathis opinion that surely, since lovers were first known in the world,and betrothals of marriage first made, no one had ever been soill-used as was he. It soon became clear to Michel that his greatgrief did not come from the loss of his wife, but from the feelingthat everybody would know that he had been ill-used. There wasn'ta shopkeeper in his own town, he said, who hadn't heard of hisapproaching marriage. And what was he to say when he went back?
'Just say that you found us so rough and rustic,' said Michel Voss.
But Urmand knew well that no such saying on his part would bebelieved.
'I think I shall go to Lyons,' said he, 'and stay there for sixmonths. What's the business to me? I don't care for the business.'
There they sat all the morning. Two or three times Peter Vequeopened the door, peeped in at them, and then brought down word thatthe conference was still going on.
'The master is sitting just over him like,' said Peter, 'and they'reas close and loving as birds.'
Marie listened, and said not a word to any one. George had made twoor three little attempts during the morning to entice her into somelover-like privacy. But Marie would not be enticed. The man towhom she was betrothed was still in the house; and, though she wasquite secure that the betrothals would now be absolutely annulled,still she would not actually entertain another lover till this wasdone.
At length the door of the long room was opened, and the two men cameout. Adrian Urmand, who was the first to be seen in the passage,went at once to his bedroom, and then Michel descended to the littleparlour. Marie was at the moment sitting on her stool of authorityin the office, from whence she could hear what was said in theparlour. Satisfied with this, she did not come down from her seat.In the parlour was Madame Voss and the Cure, and George, who hadseen his father from the front door, at once joined them.
'Well,' said Madame Voss, 'how is it to be?'
'I've arranged that we're to have a little picnic up the ravineto-morrow,' said Michel.
'A picnic!' said the Cure.
'I'm all for a picnic,' said George.
'A picnic!' said Madame Voss, 'and the ground as wet as a sop, andthe wind from the mountains enough to cut one in two.'
'Never mind about the wind. We'll take coats and umbrellas. It'sbetter to have some kind of an outing, and then he'll recoverhimself.' Marie, as she heard all this, made up her mind that ifany possible store of provisions packed in hampers could bring herlate lover round to equanimity, no efforts on her part should bewanting. She would pack up cold chickens and champagne bottles withthe greatest pleasure, and would eat her dinner sitting on a rock,even though the wind from the mountains should cut her in two.
'And so it's all to end in a picnic,' said M. le Cure, with evidentdisgust.
It appeared from Michel's description of what had taken place duringthat very long interview that Adrian Urmand had at last bec
ome quitegentle and confidential. In what way could he be let down the mosteasily? That was the question for the answering which these twoheads were kept together in conference so long. How could it bemade to appear that the betrothal had been annulled by mutualconsent? At last the happy idea of a picnic occurred to Michelhimself. 'I never thought about the time of the year,' he said;'but when friends are here and we want to do our best for them, wealways take them to the ravine, and have dinners on the rocks.' Ithad seemed to him, and as he declared to Urmand also, that ifsomething like a jubilee could be got up before the young man'sdeparture, it would appear as though there could not have been muchdisappointment.
'We shall all catch our death of cold,' said Madame Voss.
'We needn't stay long, you know,' said Michel. 'And, Marie,' saidhe, going into the little office in which his niece was stillseated, 'Marie, mind you behave yourself.'
'O, I will, Uncle Michel,' she said. 'You shall see.'