“Who told you all this?”
“No one—I have eyes. That is, I overheard two villagers talking about Mademoiselle Lacheneur’s return; so then I went to the Borderie to see for myself, and I found all the shutters open. Marie-Anne was leaning out of a window. She doesn’t even wear mourning, the heartless hussy!” Chupin spoke the truth, but then the only dress the poor girl possessed was the one that Madame d’Escorval had lent her on the night of the insurrection, when it became necessary for her to doff her masculine attire.
The old poacher was about to increase Blanche’s irritation by some further malicious remarks, when she checked him with the enquiry—”Whereabouts is the Borderie?”
“Oh, about a league and a half from here, opposite the water mills on the Oiselle, and not far from the river bank.”
“Ah, yes! I remember now. Were you ever in the house?”
“Oh, scores and scores of times while Chanlouineau was living.”
“Then you can describe it to me?”
“I should think I could. It stands in an open space a little distance from the road. There’s a small garden in front, and an orchard behind. They are both hedged in. In the rear of the orchard, on the right, are the vineyards; while on the left there’s a small grove planted round about a spring.” Chupin paused suddenly in his description, and with a knowing wink, inquired: “But what use do you mean to make of all this information?”
“That’s no matter of yours. But tell me, what is the house like inside?”