must be.' 'Nonsense about deceiving him. He is not deceived at
all.' 'Trash--you are not fond of another man. It is all
nonsense.' 'You must do what your uncle wishes. You must, now! you
must! Of course, you will love him. Why can't you let all that
come as it does with others?' 'Letter gone;--yes indeed, and now I
must go after it.' 'Trouble!--yes! Why could you not tell me
before you sent it? Have I not always been good to you?' 'You have
not been bad; not before. You have been very good. It is this that
is bad.' 'Forget you indeed. Of course he won't. How should he?
Are you not betrothed to him? He'll forgive you fast enough, when
you just say that you did not know what you were about when you were
writing it.' Thus her uncle went on; and as the outburst of his
wrath was, as it were, chopped into little bits by his having to
continue the reading of the letter, the storm did not fall upon
Marie's head so violently as she had expected. 'There's a pretty
kettle of fish you've made!' said he as soon as he had finished
reading the letter. 'Of course, it means nothing.'

'But it must mean something, Uncle Michel.'

'I say it means nothing. Now I'll tell you what I shall do, Marie.
I shall start for Basle directly. I shall get there by twelve
o'clock to-night by going through Colmar, and I shall endeavour to
intercept the letter before Urmand would receive it to-morrow.'
This was a cruel blow to Marie after all her precautions. 'If I
cannot do that, I shall at any rate see him before he gets it. That
is what I shall do; and you must let me tell him, Marie, that you
repent having written the letter.'

'But I don't repent it, Uncle Michel; I don't, indeed. I can't