Certainly no one was aware of the existence of the luxurious apartment which Chanlouineau had intended for Marie-Anne. He had never spoken of it, and had even taken the greatest precautions to prevent anyone from seeing him transport the furniture.
“How many doors are there?” inquired Blanche.
“Three; one opening into the garden, another into the orchard, another communicating with the stables. The staircase leading to the floor above is in the middle room.”
“And is Marie-Anne alone at the Borderie?”
“Entirely alone at present; but I suppose it will not be long before her brigand of a brother joins her.”
Mme. Blanche fell into a revery so deep and so prolonged that Chupin at last became impatient.
He ventured to touch her upon the arm, and, in a wily voice, he said: “Well, what shall we decide?”
Blanche shuddered like a wounded man on hearing the terrible click of the surgeon’s instruments.
“My mind is not yet made up,” she replied. “I must reflect—I will see.”
And remarking the old poacher’s discontented face, she said, vehemently: