“Why not seek another house? This——”
“This pleases me. Its situation suits me perfectly.”
In fact, after all, thought M. d’Escorval, why should not the Sairmeuse’s have regretted their odious conduct? And if they had done so might not Lacheneur, in spite of indignation, agree to accept honourable conditions?
“To say that the marquis has been kind is saying too little,” continued Lacheneur. “He has shown us the most delicate attentions. For example, having noticed how much Marie-Anne regrets the loss of her flowers, he has promised to send her plants to stock our small garden, and they will be renewed every month.”
Like all passionate men, M. Lacheneur overdid his part. This last remark was too much; it awakened a terrible suspicion in M. d’Escorval’s mind. “Good heavens!” he thought, “does this wretched man meditate some crime?” He glanced at Chanlouineau, and his anxiety increased, for on hearing Lacheneur speak of the marquis and Marie-Anne, the stalwart young farmer had turned livid.
“It is decided,” resumed Lacheneur with an air of unbounded satisfaction, “that they will give me the ten thousand francs bequeathed to me by Mademoiselle Armande. Moreover, I am to fix upon such a sum as I consider a just recompense for my services. And that is not all: they have offered me the position of manager at Sairmeuse; and I was to be allowed to occupy the game-keeper’s cottage, where I lived so long. But on reflection I refused this offer. After having enjoyed a fortune which did not belong to me during so many years, I am now anxious to amass a fortune of my own.”
“Would it be indiscreet in me to inquire what you intend to do?”
“Not the least in the world. I am going to turn pedlar.”
M. d’Escorval could not believe his ears. “Pedlar?” he repeated.
“Yes, M. le Baron. Look, there is my pack in that corner.”