For a fortnight, indeed, he scarcely left her side. In her society there was a charm whose sweetness almost made him forget his love for Marie-Anne.
But unfortunately the haughty heiress could not resist the temptation to make a slighting allusion to Marie-Anne, and to the lowliness of the marquis’s former tastes. She found an opportunity to say that she furnished Marie-Anne with work to aid her in earning a living.
Martial forced himself to smile; but the indignity which Marie-Anne had received aroused his sympathy and indignation.
And the next day he went to Lacheneur’s house.
In the warmth of the greeting that awaited him there, all his anger vanished, all his suspicions evaporated. Marie-Anne’s eyes beamed with joy on seeing him again; he noticed it.
“Oh! I shall win her yet!” he thought.
All the household were really delighted at his return; the son of the commander of the military forces at Montaignac, and the prospective son-in-law of the provost-marshal, Martial was a most valuable instrument.
“Through him, we shall have an eye and an ear in the enemy’s camp,” said Lacheneur. “The Marquis de Sairmeuse will be our spy.”
He was, for he soon resumed his daily visits to the cottage. It was now December, and the roads were terrible; but neither rain, snow, nor mud could keep Martial from the cottage.
He made his appearance generally as early as ten o’clock, seated himself upon a stool in the shadow of a tall fireplace, and he and Marie-Anne talked by the hour.