“If the child is alive,” he added, “I will find it, and Maurice shall be punished for his perfidy as he deserves.” He paused; the sound of horses’ hoofs upon the road attracted his attention, and that of Abbe Midon.
They glanced out of the window and saw a horseman stop before the little footpath, alight from his horse, throw the reins to his groom, and advance toward the Borderie.
At the sight of the visitor, Jean Lacheneur uttered the frightful howl of an infuriated wild beast.
“The Marquis de Sairmeuse here!” he exclaimed.
He sprang to Maurice, and shaking him violently, he cried:
“Up! here is Martial, Marie-Anne’s murderer! Up! he is coming! he is at our mercy!”
Maurice sprang up in a fury of passion, but the abbe darted to the door and intercepted the infuriated men as they were about to leave the room.
“Not a word, young men, not a threat!” he said, imperiously. “I forbid it. At least respect the dead who is lying here!”
There was such an irresistible authority in his words and glance, that Jean and Maurice stood as if turned to stone.
Before the priest had time to say more, Martial was there.