And that was all. He remounted his horse, which had been held by a servant, and galloped off in the direction of Montaignac. Breathless, with cheeks on fire, Marie-Anne watched him as bending low in the saddle he urged his horse onward over the dusty highway, until at last a bend and some projecting trees finally hid him from view. Then, all of a sudden, she became as it were conscious of her thoughts. “Ah, wretched woman that I am,” she exclaimed, “is it possible I could ever love any other man than Maurice, my husband, the father of my child?”
Her voice was still trembling with emotion when she related the particulars of the interview to the abbe. But he did not perceive her trouble, his thoughts being busy with the baron’s interests. “I felt sure,” said he, “that Martial would agree to our conditions. I was, indeed, so certain that I even made every arrangement for the baron to leave the farm. He will leave it to-morrow night and wait at your house till we receive the letters of licence from the king. The heat and bad ventilation of Poignot’s loft are certainly retarding his recovery. One of Poignot’s boys will bring our baggage to-morrow evening, and at eleven o’clock or so we will place M. d’Escorval in a vehicle and all sup together at the Borderie.”
“Heaven comes to my aid!” murmured Marie-Anne as she walked home, reflecting that now she would no longer be alone. With Madame d’Escorval at her side to talk to her of Maurice, and the cheerful presence of her other friends, she would soon be able to chase away those thoughts of Martial, now haunting her.
When she awoke the next morning she was in better spirits than she had been for months, and once, while putting her little house in order, she was surprised to find herself singing at her work. Just as eight o’clock in the evening was striking she heard a peculiar whistle. This was a signal from the younger Poignot, who soon appeared laden with an arm-chair for the sick man, the abbe’s medicine chest, and a bag of books. They were all placed in the room upstairs—the room which Chanlouineau had decorated at such cost, and which Marie-Anne now intended for the baron. Young Poignot told her that he had several other things to bring, and nearly an hour afterwards, fancying that he might be overloaded, she ventured out to meet him. The night was very dark, and as she hastened on, Marie-Anne failed to notice two figures stooping behind a clump of lilac bushes in her little garden.
XXXII.
CHUPIN was at first quite crestfallen when Blanche told him of Martial’s meeting with Marie-Anne at the Croix d’Arcy. He was detected with a falsehood on his lips, and feared that the discovery of his duplicity would for ever wreck his prospects. He must say good-bye to a safe and pleasant retreat at Courtornieu, and good-bye also to frequent gifts which had enabled him to spare his hoarded treasure, and even to increase it. However, his discomfiture only lasted for a moment. It seemed best to put a bold face on the matter, and accordingly raising his head, he remarked with an affection of frankness, “I may be stupid no doubt, but I wouldn’t deceive a child. I scarcely fancy your information can be correct. Some one must have told you falsely.”
Blanche shrugged her shoulders. “I obtained my information from two persons, who were ignorant of the interest it possessed for me.”
“As truly as the sun is in the heavens I swear——”
“Don’t swear; simply confess that you have been very negligent.”
Blanche spoke so authoritatively that Chupin considered it best to change his tactics. With an air of abject humility, he admitted that he had relaxed his surveillance on the previous day; he had been very busy in the morning; then one of his boys had injured his foot; and finally, he had met some friends who persuaded him to go with them to a wine-shop, where he had taken more than usual, so that——. He told his story in a whining tone, frequently interrupting himself to affirm his repentance and cover himself with reproaches. “Old drunkard!” he said, “this will teach you not to neglect your duties.”