“Yes, it is I. Light a good fire in the drawing-room for me, and bring me a change of clothing.”
The valet obeyed, and soon Martial found himself alone, stretched upon a sofa before the cheerful blaze.
“It would be a good thing to sleep and forget my troubles,” he said to himself.
He tried; but it was not until early morning that he fell into a feverish slumber.
He awoke about nine o’clock, ordered breakfast, concluded to return to Sairmeuse, and he was eating with a good appetite, when suddenly:
“Have a horse saddled instantly!” he exclaimed.
He had just remembered the rendezvous with Maurice. Why should he not go there?
He set out at once, and thanks to a spirited horse, he reached the Reche at half-past eleven o’clock.
The others had not yet arrived; he fastened his horse to a tree near by, and leisurely climbed to the summit of the hill.
This spot had been the site of Lacheneur’s house. The four walls remained standing, blackened by fire.