“How he loved me!” murmured Marie-Anne, moved by that emotion, the bare thought of which had awakened the jealousy of Maurice.
But she had neither the time nor the right to yield to her feelings. Father Poignot was doubtless, even then, awaiting her at the rendezvous.
She lifted the hearth-stone, and found the sum of money which Chanlouineau had named.
The next morning, when he awoke, the abbe received the money.
Now, Marie-Anne could breathe freely; and this peace, after so many trials and agitations, seemed to her almost happiness.
Faithful to the abbe’s instructions, she lived alone; but, by frequent visits, she accustomed the people of the neighborhood to her presence.
Yes, she would have been almost happy, could she have had news of Maurice. What had become of him? Why did he give no sign of life? What would she not have given in exchange for some word of counsel and of love from him?
The time was fast approaching when she would require a confidant; and there was no one in whom she could confide.
In this hour of extremity, when she really felt that her reason was failing her, she remembered the old physician at Vigano, who had been one of the witnesses to her marriage.
“He would help me if I called upon him for aid,” she thought.