Officials came from Montaignac charged with investigating the affair. They examined a host of witnesses, and there was even talk of sending to Paris for one of those detectives skilled in unravelling all the mysteries of crime.
Aunt Medea was half crazed with terror; and her fear was so apparent that it caused Blanche great anxiety.
“You will end by betraying us,” she remarked, one evening.
“Ah! my terror is beyond my control.”
“If that is the case, do not leave your room.”
“It would be more prudent, certainly.”
“You can say that you are not well; your meals shall be served in your own apartment.”
Aunt Medea’s face brightened. In her inmost heart she was enraptured. To have her meals served in her own room, in her bed in the morning, and on a little table by the fire in the evening, had long been the ambition and the dream of the poor dependent. But how to accomplish it! Two or three times, being a trifle indisposed, she had ventured to ask if her breakfast might be brought to her room, but her request had been harshly refused.
“If Aunt Medea is hungry, she will come down and take her place at the table as usual,” had been the response of Mme. Blanche.
To be treated in this way in a chateau where there were a dozen servants standing about idle was hard indeed.