“What! you are leaving me alone? Blanche, I entreat you! What are you going to do? Mon Dieu! you frighten me. I am afraid, Blanche!”
But her niece had gone. She was exploring the grove, seeking Chupin. She did not find him.
“I knew the wretch was deceiving me,” she muttered through her set teeth. “Who knows but Martial and Marie-Anne are there in that house now, mocking me, and laughing at my credulity?”
She rejoined Aunt Medea, whom she found half dead with fright, and both advanced to the edge of the woods, which commanded a view of the front of the house.
A flickering, crimson light gleamed through two windows in the second story. Evidently there was a fire in the room.
“That is right,” murmured Blanche, bitterly; “Martial is such a chilly person!”
She was about to approach the house, when a peculiar whistle rooted her to the spot.
She looked about her, and, in spite of the darkness, she discerned in the footpath leading to the Borderie, a man laden with articles which she could not distinguish.
Almost immediately a woman, certainly Marie-Anne, left the house and advanced to meet him.
They exchanged a few words and then walked together to the house. Soon after the man emerged without his burden and went away.