“Do you then dare to deny that you are not Martial’s mistress!”
“The Marquis de Sairmeuse! I saw him yesterday for the first time since Baron d’Escorval’s escape.”
The effort which she had made to rise and to speak had exhausted her strength. She fell back in the armchair.
But Blanche was pitiless.
“You have not seen Martial! Tell me, then, who gave you this costly furniture, these silken hangings, all the luxury that surrounds you?”
“Chanlouineau.”
Blanche shrugged her shoulders.
“So be it,” she said, with an ironical smile, “but is it Chanlouineau for whom you are waiting this evening? Is it for Chanlouineau you have warmed these slippers and laid this table? Was it Chanlouineau who sent his clothing by a peasant named Poignot? You see that I know all——”
But her victim was silent.
“For whom are you waiting?” she insisted. “Answer!”