CHAPTER XLI
One must have lived in the country to know with what inconceivable rapidity news flies from mouth to mouth.
Strange as it may seem, the news of the scene at the chateau reached Father Poignot’s farm-house that same evening.
It had not been three hours since Maurice, Jean Lacheneur and Bavois left the house, promising to re-cross the frontier that same night.
Abbe Midon had decided to say nothing to M. d’Escorval of his son’s return, and to conceal Marie-Anne’s presence in the house. The baron’s condition was so critical that the merest trifle might turn the scale.
About ten o’clock the baron fell asleep, and the abbe and Mme. d’Escorval went downstairs to talk with Marie-Anne. As they were sitting there Poignot’s eldest son entered in a state of great excitement.
After supper he had gone with some of his acquaintances to admire the splendors of the fete, and he now came rushing back to relate the strange events of the evening to his father’s guests.
“It is inconceivable!” murmured the abbe.
He knew but too well, and the others comprehended it likewise, that these strange events rendered their situation more perilous than ever.
“I cannot understand how Maurice could commit such an act of folly after what I had just said to him. The baron’s most cruel enemy has been his own son. We must wait until to-morrow before deciding upon anything.”