He entered the house almost dreading to see her whom he was seeking. In what way should he first express his wrath? How should he show her the wreck which by her inconstancy she had made of his happiness? His first words must, if possible, be spoken to her alone; and yet alone he could hardly hope to find her. And he feared her. Though he was so resolved to speak his mind, yet he feared her. Though he intended to fill her with remorse, yet he dreaded the effect of her words upon himself. He knew how strong she could be, and how steadfast. Though his passion told him every hour, was telling him all day long, that she was as false as hell, yet there was something in him of judgment, something rather of instinct, which told him also that she was not bad, that she was a firm-hearted, high-spirited, great-minded girl, who would have reasons to give for the thing that she was doing. He went through into the kitchen before he met any one, and there he found Madame Voss with the cook and Peter. Immediate explanations had, of course, to be made as to his unexpected arrival;--questions asked, and suggestions offered--'Came he in peace, or came he in war?' Had he come because he had heard of the betrothals? He admitted that it was so. 'And you are glad of it?' asked Madame Voss. 'You will congratulate her with all your heart?' 'I will congratulate her certainly,' said George. Then the cook and Peter began with a copious flow of domestic eloquence to declare how great a marriage this was for the Lion d'Or--how pleasing to the master, how creditable to the village, how satisfactory to the friends, how joyous to the bridegroom, how triumphant to the bride! 'No doubt she will have plenty to eat and drink, and fine clothes to wear, and an excellent house over her head,' said George in his bitterness. 'And she will be married to one of the most respectable young men in all Switzerland,' said Madame Voss in a tone of much anger. It was already quite clear to Madame Voss, to the cook, and to Peter, that George had not come over from Colmar simply to express his joyous satisfaction at his cousin's good fortune. He soon walked through into the little sitting-room, and his step-mother followed him. 'George,' she said, 'you will displease your father very much if you say anything unkind about Marie.' 'I know very well,' said he, 'that my father cares more for Marie than he does for me.' 'That is not so, George.' 'I do not blame him for it. She lives in the house with him, while I live elsewhere. It was natural that she should be more to him than I am, after he had sent me away. But he has no right to suppose that I can have the same feeling that he has about this marriage. I cannot think it the finest thing in the world for all of us that Marie Bromar should succeed in getting a rich young man for her husband, who, as far as I can see, never had two ideas in his head.'