“Marie,” said he, with a voice that attempted to be cheerful; “this is an odd place to meet in after such a long absence,” and he held out his hand to her. But only his hand! He offered her no salute. He did not even kiss her cheek as a brother would have done! Of the rules of the outside world it must be remembered that poor Marie knew but little. He had been a brother to her before he had become her lover. But Marie took his hand saying, “Yes, it has been very long.” “And now that I have come back,” he went on to say, “it seems that we are all in a confusion together. I never knew such a piece of work. However, it is all for the best, I suppose.” “Perhaps so,” said Marie, still trembling violently, and still looking down upon the ground. And then there was silence between, them for a minute or so. “I tell you what it is, Marie,” said Adolphe at last, dropping her hand and making a great effort to get through the work before him. “I am afraid we two have been very foolish. Don’t you think we have now? It seems quite clear that we can never get ourselves married. Don’t you see it in that light?” Marie’s head turned round and round with her, but she was not of the fainting order. She took three steps backwards and leant against the wall of the cave. She also was trying to think how she might best fight her battle. Was there no chance for her? Could no eloquence, no love prevail? On her own beauty she counted but little; but might not prayers do something, and a reference to those old vows which had been so frequent, so eager, so solemnly pledged between them? “Never get ourselves married!” she said, repeating his words. “Never, Adolphe? Can we never be married?” “Upon my word, my dear girl, I fear not. You see my mother is so dead against it.” “But we could wait; could we not?” “Ah, but that’s just it, Marie. We cannot wait. We must decide now,--to-day. You see I can do nothing without money from her--and as for you, you see she won’t even let you stay in the house unless you marry old Campan at once. He’s a very good sort of fellow though, old as he is. And if you do marry him, why you see you’ll stay here, and have it all your own way in everything. As for me, I shall come and see you all from time to time, and shall be able to push my way as I ought to do.” “Then, Adolphe, you wish me to marry the capitaine?” “Upon my honour I think it is the best thing you can do; I do indeed.” “Oh, Adolphe!” “What can I do for you, you know? Suppose I was to go down to my mother and tell her that I had decided to keep you myself, what would come of it? Look at it in that light, Marie.” “She could not turn you out--you her own son!” “But she would turn you out; and deuced quick, too, I can assure you of that; I can, upon my honour.” “I should not care that,” and she made a motion with her hand to show how indifferent she would be to such treatment as regarded herself. “Not that--; if I still had the promise of your love.”