“What are you saying about flowers?” inquired the impoverished relative.
Mlle. Blanche replied that she had not made the slightest allusion to flowers. She was suffocating—and yet she compelled herself to remain there three mortal hours—all the time that was required to unload the furniture.
The wagons had been gone some time, when Martial again appeared upon the threshold.
Marie-Anne had accompanied him to the door, and they were talking together. It seemed impossible for him to make up his mind to depart.
He did so, at last, however; but he left slowly and with evident reluctance. Marie-Anne, remaining in the door, gave him a friendly gesture of farewell.
“I wish to speak to this creature!” exclaimed Mlle. Blanche. “Come, aunt, at once!”
Had Marie-Anne, at that moment, been within the reach of Mlle. de Courtornieu’s voice, she would certainly have learned the secret of her former friend’s anger and hatred.
But fate willed it otherwise. At least three hundred yards of rough ground separated the place where Mlle. Blanche had stationed herself, from the Lacheneur cottage.
It required a moment to cross this space; and that was time enough to change all the girl’s intentions.
She had not traversed a quarter of the distance before she bitterly regretted having shown herself at all. But to retrace her steps now was impossible, for Marie-Anne, who was still standing upon the threshold, had seen her approaching.