'No, my dear, no; but do not allow her to suppose that anybody else
can put it there either. Let the matter go on. She will see the
things bought for her wedding, and when she remembers that she has
allowed them to come into the house without remonstrating, she will
be quite unable to object. Don't give her an opportunity of
objecting.' Michel Voss again shook his head, as though his wife
were an unreasonable woman, and swore that it was not he who had
given Marie such opportunity. But he made up his mind to do as his
wife recommended. 'Speak softly to her, my dear,' said Madame Voss.

'Don't I always speak softly?' said he, turning sharply round upon
his spouse.

He made his attempt to speak softly when he met Marie about the
house just before supper. He put his hand upon her shoulder, and
smiled, and murmured some word of love. He was by no means crafty
in what he did. Craft indeed was not the strong point of his
character. She took his rough hand and kissed it, and looked up
lovingly, beseechingly into his face. She knew that he was asking
her to consent to the sacrifice, and he knew that she was imploring
him to spare her. This was not what Madame Voss had meant by
speaking softly. Could she have been allowed to dilate upon her own
convictions, or had she been able adequately to express her own
ideas, she would have begged that there might be no sentiment, no
romance, no kissing of hands, no looking into each other's faces,--
no half-murmured tones of love. Madame Voss believed strongly that
the every-day work of the world was done better without any of these
glancings and glimmerings of moonshine. But then her husband was,
by nature, of a fervid temperament, given to the influence of