The messenger learnt that the young marquis was in very good health, and that he spent the entire day, from early morn to dewy eve, shooting in the neighbouring preserves; going to bed every evening as soon as dinner was over.
What a horrible insult this conduct implied for Blanche! However, it did not so much distress her as she felt certain that directly Martial heard of her enquiries he would hasten to her with a full apology. Her hope was vain; he did not come; nor even condescend to give a sign of life.
“Ah! no doubt he is with that wretch,” said Blanche to Aunt Medea. “He is on his knees before that miserable Marie-Anne—his mistress.” For she had finished by believing—as is not unfrequently the case—the very calumnies which she herself had invented.
Scarcely knowing how to act she at last decided to make her father her confidant; and accordingly wrote him a note to the effect that she was coming to Montaignac for his advice. In reality, she wished her father to compel Lacheneur to leave the country. This would be an easy matter for the marquis, since he was armed with discretionary judicial authority at an epoch when lukewarm devotion furnished an ample excuse for sending a man into exile.
Fully decided upon executing this plan, Mademoiselle Courtornieu grew calmer on leaving the chateau; and her hopes overflowed in incoherent phrases, which poor Aunt Medea listened to with all her accustomed resignation. “At last,” exclaimed the revengeful Blanche, “I shall be rid of this shameless creature. We will see if he has the audacity to follow her. Ah, no; he cannot dare to do that!”
She was talking in this strain, or reflecting how she should lay the matter before her father, while the carriage which she and Aunt Medea occupied rolled over the highway and through the village of Sairmeuse.
There were lights in every house, the wine-shops seemed full of tipplers, and groups of people could be seen in every direction. All this animation was no doubt most unusual, but what did it matter to Mademoiselle de Courtornieu! It was not until they were a mile or so from Sairmeuse that she was startled from her reverie.
“Listen, Aunt Medea,” she suddenly exclaimed. “What is that noise?”
The poor dependent listened as she was bid, and both occupants of the carriage could distinguish a confused babel of shouts and singing, which grew nearer and more distinct as the vehicle rolled onward.
“Let us find out the meaning of all this hubbub,” said Blanche. And lowering one of the carriage windows, she asked the coachman if he knew what the disturbance was about.