no word. She could not renew her assurances to him, till he should
have asked her to renew them. He was either false, or a traitor, or
a coward. She was very angry with him;--so angry that she was
almost driven by her anger to throw herself into Adrian's arms. She
was the more angry because she was full sure that he had not
forgotten his old love,--that his heart was not altogether changed.
Had it appeared to her that the sweet words of former days had
vanished from his memory, though they had clung to hers,--that he
had in truth learned to look upon his Granpere experiences as the
simple doings of his boyhood,--her pride would have been hurt, but
she would have been angry with herself rather than with him. But it
had not been so. The respectful silence of his sojourn in the house
had told her that it was not so. The tremor in his voice as he
reminded her that they once had been friends had plainly told her
that it was not so. He had acknowledged that they had been
betrothed, and that the plight between them was still strong; but,
wishing to be quit of it, he had thrown the burden of breaking it
upon her.

She was very wretched, but she did not go about the house with
downcast eyes or humble looks, or sit idle in a corner with her
hands before her. She was quick and eager in the performance of her
work, speaking sharply to those who came in contact with her. Peter
Veque, her chief minister, had but a poor time of it in these days;
and she spoke an angry word or two to Edmond Greisse. She had, in
truth, spoken no words to Edmond Greisse that were not angry since
that ill-starred communication of which he had only given her the
half. To her aunt she was brusque, and almost ill-mannered.

'What is the matter with you, Marie?' Madame Voss said to her one