At times they remained alone. Lacheneur, Chanlouineau, and Jean were tramping about the country with their pedlar’s packs. Business was indeed prospering so well that Lacheneur had even purchased a horse in order to extend the circuit of his rounds. But, although the usual occupants of the cottage might be away, it so happened that Martial’s conversation was generally interrupted by visitors. It was indeed really surprising to see how many peasants called at the cottage to speak with M. Lacheneur. They called at all hours and in rapid succession, sometimes alone, and at others in little batches of two or three. And to each of these peasants Marie-Anne had something to say in private. Then she would offer them refreshments; and at times one might have imagined oneself in an ordinary village wine shop. But what can daunt a lover’s courage? Martial endured the peasants and their carouses without a murmur. He laughed and jested with them, shook them by the hand, and at times he even drained a glass in their company.
He gave many other proofs of moral courage. He offered to assist M. Lacheneur in making up his accounts; and once—it happened about the middle of February—seeing Chanlouineau worrying over the composition of a letter, he actually volunteered to act as his amanuensis. “The letter is not for me, but for an uncle of mine who is about to marry his daughter,” said the stalwart young farmer.
Martial took a seat at the table, and at Chanlouineau’s dictation, but not without many erasures, indited the following epistle:
“My dear friend—We are at last agreed, and the marriage is decided on. We are now busy preparing for the wedding, which will take place on —— We invite you to give us the pleasure of your company. We count upon you, and be assured that the more friends you bring with you the better we shall be pleased.”
Had Martial seen the smile upon Chanlouineau’s lips when he requested him to leave the date for the wedding a blank, he would certainly have suspected that he had been caught in a snare. But he did not see it, and, besides, he was in love.
“Ah! marquis,” remarked his father one day, “Chupin tells me you are always at Lacheneur’s. When will you recover from your foolish fancy for that little girl?”
Martial did not reply. He felt that he was at that “little girl’s” mercy. Each glance she gave him made his heart throb wildly. He lingered by her side a willing captive; and if she had asked him to make her his wife he would certainly not have refused. But Marie-Anne had no such ambition. All her thoughts and wishes were for her father’s success.
Maurice and Marie-Anne had become M. Lacheneur’s most intrepid auxiliaries. They were looking forward to such a magnificent reward. Feverish, indeed, was the activity which Maurice displayed! All day long he hurried from hamlet to hamlet, and in the evening, as soon as dinner was over, he made his escape from the drawing-room, sprang into his boat, and hastened to La Reche.
M. d’Escorval could not fail to notice his son’s long and frequent absences. He watched him, and soon discovered that some secret understanding existed between Maurice and Lacheneur. Recollecting his previous suspicion that Lacheneur was harbouring some seditious design he became greatly alarmed for his son’s safety, and decided to go to La Reche and try once more to learn the truth. Previous repulses had diminished his confidence in his own persuasive powers, and being anxious for an auxiliary’s assistance he asked the Abbe Midon to accompany him.
It was the 4th of March, and half-past four in the evening when M. d’Escorval and the cure started from Sairmeuse bound for the cottage at La Reche. They were both anxious as to the result of the step they were taking, and scarcely exchanged a dozen words as they walked towards the banks of the Oiselle. They had crossed the river and traversed the familiar pine grove, when on reaching the outskirts of the waste they witnessed a strange sight well calculated to increase their anxiety and alarm.