In the long room up-stairs he found Adrian Urmand sitting at the closed window, looking out at the ducks who were paddling in a temporary pool made by the late rains. He had been painfully in want of something to do,--so much so that he had more than once almost resolved to put his things into his bag, and leave the house without saying a word of farewell to any one. Had there been any means for him to escape from Granpere without saying a word, he would have done so. But at Granpere there was no railway, and the only public conveyance in and out of the place started from the door of the Lion d'Or; started every morning, with much ceremony, so that it was impossible for him to fly unobserved. There he was, watching the ducks, when Michel entered the room, and very much disposed to quarrel with any one who approached him. 'I'm afraid you find it rather dull here,' said Michel, beginning the conversation. 'It is dull; very dull indeed.' 'That is the worst of it. We are dull people here in the country. We have not the distractions which you town folk can always find. There's not much to do, and nothing to look at.' 'Very little to look at, that's worth the trouble of looking,' said Urmand. There was a malignity of satire intended in this; for the young man in his wrath, and with a full conviction of what was coming upon him, had intended to include his betrothed in the catalogue of things of Granpere not worthy of inspection. But Michel Voss did not at all follow him so far as that. 'I never saw such a place,' continued Urmand. 'There isn't a soul even to play a game of billiards with.' Now Michel Voss, although for a purpose he had been willing to make little of his own village, did in truth consider that Granpere was at any rate as good a place to live in as Basle. And he felt that though he might abuse Granpere, it was very uncourteous in Adrian Urmand to do so. 'I don't think much of playing billiards in the morning, I must own,' said he. 'I daresay not,' said Urmand, still looking at the ducks. Michel had made no progress as yet, so he sat down and scratched his head. The more he thought of it, the larger the difficulty seemed to be. He was quite aware now that it was his own unfortunate journey to Basle which had brought so heavy a burden on him. It was as yet no more than three or four days since he had taken upon himself to assure the young man that he, by his own authority, would make everything right; and now he was forced to acknowledge that everything was wrong. 'M. Urmand,' he said at last, 'it has been a very great grief to me, a very great grief indeed, that you should have found things so uncomfortable.' 'What things do you mean?' said Urmand. 'Well--everything--about Marie, you know. When I went over to Basle the other day, I didn't think how it was going to turn out. I didn't indeed.' 'And how is it going to turn out?' 'I can't make the young woman consent, you know,' said the innkeeper.