Martial, at Montaignac, had ended by going to sleep.
Blanche, when daylight came, exchanged the snowy bridal robes for a black dress, and wandered about the garden like a restless spirit.
She spent most of the day shut up in her room, refusing to allow the duke, or even her father, to enter.
In the evening, about eight o’clock, they received tidings from Martial.
A servant brought two letters; one, sent by Martial to his father, the other, to his wife.
For a moment or more Blanche hesitated to open the one intended for her. It would determine her destiny; she was afraid; she broke the seal and read:
“Madame la marquise—Between you and me all is ended; reconciliation is impossible.
“From this moment you are free. I esteem you enough to hope that you will respect the name of Sairmeuse, from which I cannot relieve you.
“You will agree with me, I am sure, in thinking a quiet separation preferable to the scandal of a divorce suit.
“My lawyer will pay you an allowance befitting the wife of a man whose income amounts to three hundred thousand francs.