The Golden Lion of Granpere

quite sure that matters were arranged between Marie and Adrian Urmand. The story had been told to him as being certainly true by Peter the waiter. And he had discussed the matter with ot

een so sure, he began to think that there would be some difficulty in giving his message. He was not without some little fear of Marie, and hesitated to tell

cle know?'

to tell him,

hy should I tell him

was quite out of the question that she should be the first to announce George's return, when she had been twice warned on that Sunday afternoon not to think of him. 'You had better let my uncle know yourself,' she said, as she walked away. But youn

im with demonstrations of love and gratitude, as though much were du

id not expect you now any more than

ad returned just at the moment in which something must be decided. She had felt how much there was in the little word which she had spoken to her uncle. When a girl says that she will try to reconcile herself to a man's overtures, she has almost yielded. The word had escaped her without any such meaning on her part,- had been spoken because she had feared to continue to contradict her uncle in the full completeness of a positive refusal. She had regretted it as soon as it had been spoken, but she could not recall it. She had seen in her uncle's eye and had heard in the tone of his voice for how much that word had been taken;- but it had gone forth from he

but Marie despised him in her heart. She was almost bigger than he was, certainly stronger, and had no aptitude for the city niceness and POINT-DEVICE fastidiousness of such a lover. George Voss had come back, not taller than when he had left them, but broader in the shoulders, and more of a man. And then he had in his eye, and in his beaked nose, and his large mouth, and well-developed chin, that look of command, which was the peculiar character of his father's face, and which women, who judge of m

er life.' He probably felt himself to be nearly as young a man as his son; and then remember too that he had other sons coming up, who would be able to carry on the house at Granpere when he should be past his work. Michel was a loving, generous-hearted man, and all feeling of anger with his son was over before they had been together two days. 'You can't do better, George,' he said. 'You need not always stay away from us for twelve months, and I might take a turn over the mountain, and get a le

aid George slowly. 'The money is much more than I

is it

l me, father; is it true that Marie is

akes yo

of it,' said Geo

arie's manner to him, during the last two days had made him certain that he had been right in supposing that they had both forgotten the little tenderness of a year ago. And Michel had thoroughly made up his mind that it would be well that Marie should marry Adrian. H

e is somet

mand is very eager for it, and has asked

s he as

done that too

answer d

ly to jump into a man's arms at the first word. But I think there is no doubt tha

kes him

r wants with his money, as a pelican feeds her young with blood from her bosom. Had he known the hearts of each of them, could he have understood Marie's constancy, or the obstinate silent strength of his son's disposition, he would have let Adrian Urmand, with his business and his house at Basle, seek a wife in any other quarter w

ge, not showing by any tone of his voice th

r his liberal offer, had declared that he would accede to Madame Faragon's proposition, and had made his father unders

that he had been entirely reconciled to his father. Madame Voss had asked some question about him and Marie, and had been assured by her husband that there was nothing in that suspicion. 'I tol

. Of what use was it to speak to her? he would say to himself. Then again he would resolve that he would scorch her false heart by one withering word before he went. Chance

be married, Marie. I hope you

ells y

at any rate,

ncle and aunt choose to disp

disposed of sometimes. It sa

y that, George;- whether it i

well and happy. I daresay M. Urmand will make you a good husband. Good-by

ell, G

o be frien

used to be

but I shall wish you well. God bless you, Marie.' Then he put his arm round her and kissed her, as he might have done to a sister,-

so doing have asked him to come back to her. That she should do this was impossible. And yet as he left her, some suspicion of the truth, some half-formed idea of the real state of the man's mind in reference to her, flashed across her own. She seemed to feel that she was specially unfortunate, but she felt at the sa