CHAPTER III.
The old-fashioned inn at Colmar, at which George Voss was acting asassistant and chief manager to his father's distant cousin, MadameFaragon, was a house very different in all its belongings from theLion d'Or at Granpere. It was very much larger, and had much higherpretensions. It assumed to itself the character of a first-classhotel; and when Colmar was without a railway, and was a greatposting-station on the high road from Strasbourg to Lyons, there wassome real business at the Hotel de la Poste in that town. Atpresent, though Colmar may probably have been benefited by therailway, the inn has faded, and is in its yellow leaf. Travellerswho desire to see the statue which a grateful city has erected tothe memory of its most illustrious citizen, General Rapp, are notsufficient in number to keep a first-class hotel in the glories offresh paint and smart waiters; and when you have done with GeneralRapp, there is not much to interest you in Colmar. But there is thehotel; and poor fat, unwieldy Madame Faragon, though she grumblesmuch, and declares that there is not a sou to be made, still keepsit up, and bears with as much bravery as she can the buffets of aworld which seems to her to be becoming less prosperous and lesscomfortable and more exacting every day. In her younger years, aposting-house in such a town was a posting-house; and when M.Faragon married her, the heiress of the then owner of the business,he was supposed to have done uncommonly well for himself. MadameFaragon is now a childless widow, and sometimes declares that shewill shut the house up and have done with it. Why maintain abusiness without a profit, simply that there may be an Hotel de laPoste at Colmar? But there are old servants whom she has not theheart to send away; and she has at any rate a roof of her own overher head; and though she herself is unconscious that it is so, shehas many ties to the old business; and now, since her young cousinGeorge Voss has been with her, things go a little better. She isnot robbed so much, and the people of the town, finding that theycan get a fair bottle of wine and a good supper, come to the inn;and at length an omnibus has been established, and there is a littleglimmer of returning prosperity.
It is a large old rambling house, built round an irregularly-shapedcourt, with another court behind it; and in both courts the stablesand coach-houses seem to be so mixed with the kitchens andentrances, that one hardly knows what part of the building is equineand what part human. Judging from the smell which pervades thelower quarters, and, alas, also too frequently the upper rooms, onewould be inclined to say that the horses had the best of it. Thedefect had been pointed out to Madame Faragon more than once; butthat lady, though in most of the affairs of life her temper isgentle and kindly, cannot hear with equanimity an insinuation thatany portion of her house is either dirty or unsweet. Complaintshave reached her that the beds were--well, inhabited--but no servantnow dares to hint at anything wrong in this particular. If thistraveller or that says a word to her personally in complaint, shelooks as sour as death, and declines to open her mouth in reply; butwhen that traveller's back is turned, the things that Madame Faragoncan say about the upstart coxcombry of the wretch, and as to thewant of all real comforts which she is sure prevails in the homequarters of that ill-starred complaining traveller, are proof tothose who hear them that the old landlady has not as yet lost allher energy. It need not be doubted that she herself religiouslybelieves that no foul perfume has ever pervaded the sanctity of herchambers, and that no living thing has ever been seen inside thesheets of her beds, except those guests whom she has allocated tothe different rooms.
Matters had not gone very easily with George Voss in all the changeshe had made during the last year. Some things he was obliged to dowithout consulting Madame Faragon at all. Then she would discoverwhat was going on, and there would be a 'few words.' At other timeshe would consult her, and carry his purpose only after muchperseverance. Twice or thrice he had told her that he must go away,and then with many groans she had acceded to his propositions. Ithad been necessary to expend two thousand francs in establishing theomnibus, and in that affair the appearance of things had been at onetime quite hopeless. And then when George had declared that thealtered habits of the people required that the hour of the morningtable-d'hote should be changed from noon to one, she had sworn thatshe would not give way. She would never lend her assent to suchvile idleness. It was already robbing the business portion of theday of an hour. She would wrap her colours round her and die uponthe ground sooner than yield. 'Then they won't come,' said George,'and it's no use you having the table then. They will all go to theHotel de l'Imperatrice.' This was a new house, the very mention ofwhich was a dagger-thrust into the bosom of Madame Faragon. 'Thenthey will be poisoned,' she said. 'And let them! It is what theyare fit for.' But the change was made, and for the first three daysshe would not come out of her room. When the bell was rung at theobnoxious hour, she stopped her ears with her two hands.
But though there had been these contests, Madame Faragon had mademore than one effort to induce George Voss to become her partner andsuccessor in the house. If he would only bring in a small sum ofmoney--a sum which must be easily within his father's reach--heshould have half the business now, and all of it when Madame Faragonhad gone to her rest. Or if he would prefer to give Madame Faragona pension--a moderate pension--she would give up the house at once.At these tender moments she used to say that he probably would notbegrudge her a room in which to die. But George Voss would alwayssay that he had no money, that he could not ask his father formoney, and that he had not made up his mind to settle at Colmar.Madame Faragon, who was naturally much interested in the matter, andwas moreover not without curiosity, could never quite learn howmatters stood at Granpere. A word or two she had heard in acircuitous way of Marie Bromar, but from George himself she couldnever learn anything of his affairs at home. She had asked him onceor twice whether it would not be well that he should marry, but hehad always replied that he did not think of such a thing--at anyrate as yet. He was a steady young man, given more to work than toplay, and apparently not inclined to amuse himself with the girls ofthe neighbourhood.
One day Edmond Greisse was over at Colmar--Edmond Greisse, the ladwhose untidy appearance at the supper-table at the Lion d'Or hadcalled down the rebuke of Marie Bromar. He had been sent over onsome business by his employer, and had come to get his supper andbed at Madame Faragon's hotel. He was a modest, unassuming lad, andhad been hardly more than a boy when George Voss had left Granpere.From time to time George had seen some friend from the village, andhad thus heard tidings from home. Once, as has been said, MadameVoss had made a pilgrimage to Madame Faragon's establishment tovisit him; but letters between the houses had not been frequent.Though postage in France--or shall we say Germany?--is now almost aslow as in England, these people of Alsace have not yet fallen intothe way of writing to each other when it occurs to any of them thata word may be said. Young Greisse had seen the landlady, who nownever went upstairs among her guests, and had had his chamberallotted to him, and was seated at the supper-table, before he metGeorge Voss. It was from Madame Faragon that George heard of hisarrival.
'There is a neighbour of yours from Granpere in the house,' saidshe.
'From Granpere? And who is he?'
'I forget the lad's name; but he says that your father is well, andMadame Voss. He goes back early to-morrow with the roulage and somegoods that his people have bought. I think he is at supper now.'
The place of honour at the top of the table at the Colmar inn wasnot in these days assumed by Madame Faragon. She had, alas, becometoo stout to do so with either grace or comfort, and always took hermeals, as she always lived, in the little room downstairs, fromwhich she could see, through the apertures of two doors, all whocame in and all who went out by the chief entrance of the hotel.Nor had George usurped the place. It had now happened at Colmar, asit has come to pass at most hotels, that the public table is nolonger the table-d'hote. The end chair was occupied by a stout,dark man, with a bald head and black beard, who was proudly fillinga place different from that of his neighbo
urs, and who wouldprobably have gone over to the Hotel de l'Imperatrice had anybodydisturbed him. On the present occasion George seated himself nextto the lad, and they were soon discussing all the news fromGranpere.
'And how is Marie Bromar?' George asked at last.
'You have heard about her, of course,' said Edmond Greisse.
'Heard what?'
'She is going to be married.'
'Minnie Bromar to be married? And to whom?'
Edmond at once understood that his news was regarded as beingimportant, and made the most of it.
'O dear, yes. It was settled last week when he was there.'
'But who is he?'
'Adrian Urmand, the linen-buyer from Basle.'
'Marie to be married to Adrian Urmand?'
Urmand's journeys to Granpere had been commenced before George Vosshad left the place, and therefore the two young men had known eachother.
'They say he's very rich,' said Edmond.
'I thought he cared for nobody but himself. And are you sure? Whotold you?'
'I am quite sure; but I do not know who told me. They are alltalking about it.'
'Did my father ever tell you?'
'No, he never told me.'
'Or Marie herself?'
'No, she did not tell me. Girls never tell those sort of things ofthemselves.'
'Nor Madame Voss?' asked George.
'She never talks much about anything. But you may be sure it'strue. I'll tell you who told me first, and he is sure to know,because he lives in the house. It was Peter Veque.'
'Peter Veque, indeed! And who do you think would tell him?'
'But isn't it quite likely? She has grown to be such a beauty!Everybody gives it to her that she is the prettiest girl roundGranpere. And why shouldn't he marry her? If I had a lot of money,I'd only look to get the prettiest girl I could find anywhere.'
After this, George said nothing farther to the young man as to themarriage. If it was talked about as Edmond said, it was probablytrue. And why should it not be true? Even though it were true, noone would have cared to tell him. She might have been married twiceover, and no one in Granpere would have sent him word. So hedeclared to himself. And yet Marie Bromar had once sworn to himthat she loved him, and would be his for ever and ever; and, thoughhe had left her in dudgeon, with black looks, without a kind word offarewell, yet he had believed her. Through all his sojourn atColmar he had told himself that she would be true to him. Hebelieved it, though he was hardly sure of himself--had hardlyresolved that he would ever go back to Granpere to seek her. Hisfather had turned him out of the house, and Marie had told him as hewent that she would never marry him if her uncle disapproved it.Slight as her word had been on that morning of his departure, it hadrankled in his bosom, and made him angry with her through a wholetwelvemonth. And yet he had believed that she would be true to him!
He went out in the evening when it was dusk and walked round andround the public garden of Colmar, thinking of the news which he hadheard--the public garden, in which stands the statue of GeneralRapp. It was a terrible blow to him. Though he had remained awhole year in Colmar without seeing Marie, or hearing of her,without hardly ever having had her name upon his lips, without evenhaving once assured himself during the whole time that the happinessof his life would depend on the girl's constancy to him,--now thathe heard that she was to be married to another man, he was torn topieces by anger and regret. He had sworn to love her, and had nevereven spoken a word of tenderness to another girl. She had given himher plighted troth, and now she was prepared to break it with thefirst man who asked her! As he thought of this, his brow becameblack with anger. But his regrets were as violent. What a fool hehad been to leave her there, open to persuasion from any man whocame in the way, open to persuasion from his father, who would, ofcourse, be his enemy. How, indeed, could he expect that she shouldbe true to him? The year had been long enough to him, but it musthave been doubly long to her. He had expected that his father wouldsend for him, would write to him, would at least transmit to himsome word that would make him know that his presence was againdesired at Granpere. But his father had been as proud as he was,and had not sent any such message. Or rather, perhaps, the fatherbeing older and less impatient, had thought that a temporary absencefrom Granpere might be good for his son.
It was late at night when George Voss went to bed, but he was up inthe morning early to see Edmond Greisse before the roulage shouldstart for Munster on its road to Granpere. Early times in that partof the world are very early, and the roulage was ready in the backcourt of the inn at half-past four in the morning.
'What? you up at this hour?' said Edmond.
'Why not? It is not every day we have a friend here from Granpere,so I thought I would see you off.'
'That is kind of you.'
'Give my love to them at the old house, Edmond.'
'Of course I will.'
'To father, and Madame Voss, and the children, and to Marie.'
'All right.'
'Tell Marie that you have told me of her marriage.'
'I don't know whether she'll like to talk about that to me.'
'Never mind; you tell her. She won't bite you. Tell her also thatI shall be over at Granpere soon to see her and the rest of them.I'll be over--as soon as ever I can get away.'
'Shall I tell your father that?'
'No. Tell Marie, and let her tell my father.'
'And when will you come? We shall all be so glad to see you.'
'Never you mind that. You just give my message. Come in for amoment to the kitchen. There's a cup of coffee for you and a sliceof ham. We are not going to let an old friend like you go awaywithout breaking his fast.'
As Greisse had already paid his modest bill, amounting altogether tolittle more than three francs, this was kind of the young landlord,and while he was eating his bread and ham he promised faithfullythat he would give the message just as George had given it to him.
It was on the third day after the departure of Edmond Greisse thatGeorge told Madame Faragon that he was going home.
'Going where, George?' said Madame Faragon, leaning forward on thetable before her, and looking like a picture of despair.
'To Granpere, Madame Faragon.'
'To Granpere! and why? and when? and how? O dear! Why did you nottell me before, child?'
'I told you as soon as I knew.'
'But you are not going yet?'
'On Monday.'
'O dear! So soon as that! Lord bless me! We can't do anythingbefore Monday. And when will you be back?'
'I cannot say with certainty. I shall not be long, I daresay.'
'And have they sent for you?'
'No, they have not sent for me, but I want to see them once again.And I must make up my mind what to do for the future.'
'Don't leave me, George; pray do not leave me!' exclaimed MadameFaragon. 'You shall have the business now if you choose to takeit--only pray don't leave me!'
George explained that at any rate he would not desert her now atonce; and on the Monday named he started for Granpere. He had notbeen very quick in his action, for a week had passed since he hadgiven Edmond Greisse his breakfast in the hotel kitchen.