“It will only require a little perseverance and a few long walks,” she said to herself.
But it cost poor Aunt Medea, the inevitable chaperon, two long weeks of almost continued walking.
“Another freak!” groaned the poor relative, overcome with fatigue; “my niece is certainly crazy!”
But one lovely afternoon in May Blanche discovered what she sought.
It was in a sequestered spot near the lake. Chupin was tramping sullenly along with his gun and glancing suspiciously on every side! Not that he feared the game-keeper or a verbal process, but wherever he went, he fancied he saw Balstain walking in his shadow, with that terrible knife in his hand.
Seeing Mme. Blanche he tried to hide himself in the forest, but she prevented it by calling:
“Father Chupin!”
He hesitated for a moment, then he paused, dropped his gun, and waited.
Aunt Medea was pale with fright.
“Blessed Jesus!” she murmured, pressing her niece’s arm; “why do you call that terrible man?”