and was now as strong in Marie's breast as it was in his own. He
had learned this at any rate by his journey to Granpere, and there
was something of consolation in the knowledge. But, nevertheless,
he did not find that he could triumph. Marie had been weak enough
to yield to his father once, and would yield to him, he thought, yet
again. Women in this respect--as he told himself--were different
from men. They were taught by the whole tenor of their lives to
submit,--unless they could conquer by underhand unseen means, by
little arts, by coaxing, and by tears. Marie, he did not doubt, had
tried all these, and had failed. His father's purpose had been too
strong for her, and she had yielded. Having submitted once, of
course she would submit again. There was about his father a spirit
of masterfulness, which he was sure Marie would not be able to
withstand. And then there would be--strong against his interests,
George thought--that feeling so natural to a woman, that as all the
world had been told of her coming marriage, she would be bound to go
through with it. The idea of it had become familiar to her. She
had conquered the repugnance which she must at first have felt, and
had made herself accustomed to regard this man as her future
husband. And then there would be Madame Voss against him, and M. le
Cure,--both of whom would think it infinitely better for Marie's
future welfare, that she should marry a Roman Catholic, as was
Urmand, than a Protestant such as was he, George Voss. And then the
money! Even if he could bring himself to believe that the money was
nothing to Marie, it would be so much to all those by whom Marie
would be surrounded, that it would be impossible that she should be
preserved from its influence.

It is not often that young people really know each other; but George
certainly did not know Marie Bromar. In the first place, though he