On the next morning Michel Voss and his son met in the kitchen, and found Marie already there.

'Well, my girl,' said Michel, as he patted Marie's shoulder, and kissed her forehead, 'you've been up getting a rare breakfast for these fellows, I see.' Marie smiled, and made some good-humoured reply.

No one could have told by her face that there was anything amiss with her.

'It's the last favour of the kind he'll ever have at your hands,' continued Michel, 'and yet he doesn't seem to be half grateful.' George stood with his back to the kitchen fire, and did not say a word.

It was impossible for him even to appear to be pleasant when such things were being said.