Adrian Urmand, in spite of his white hands and his well-combed locks and the silk lining to his coat, had so much of the spirit of a man that he was minded to hold his head well up before the girl whom he wished to make his wife.

Michel during that drive from Remiremont had told him that he might probably prevail.

Michel had said a thousand things in favour of his niece and not a word to her prejudice; but he had so spoken, or had endeavoured so to speak, as to make Urmand understand that Marie could only be won with difficulty, and that she was perhaps unaccountably averse to the idea of matrimony.

'She is like a young filly, you know, that starts and plunges when she is touched,' he had said.

'You think there is nobody else ?' Urmand had asked.