Chupin reflected a moment, then he replied:
“This is what I desire. I have enemies—I do not even feel safe in my own house. My sons abuse me when I have been drinking; my wife is quite capable of poisoning my wine; I tremble for my life and for my money. I cannot endure this existence much longer. Promise me an asylum in the Chateau de Courtornieu, and I am yours. In your house I shall be safe. But let it be understood, I will not be ill-treated by the servants as I was at Sairmeuse.”
“It shall be as you desire.”
“Swear it by your hope of heaven.”
“I swear.”
There was such an evident sincerity in her accent that Chupin was reassured. He leaned toward her, and said, in a low voice:
“Now tell me your business.”
His small gray eyes glittered with a demoniac light; his thin lips were tightly drawn over his sharp teeth; he was evidently expecting some proposition to murder, and he was ready.
His attitude showed this so plainly that Blanche shuddered.
“Really, what I ask of you is almost nothing,” she replied. “I only wish you to watch the Marquis de Sairmeuse.”