"His daughter is a charming girl," said Madame Cardonnet timidly.
"His daughter!" retorted the master scornfully. "What daughter! the one he had by his maidservant?"
"He has acknowledged her."
"He did well, for old Janille would have been sadly embarrassed to acknowledge the child's father! Whether she's charming or not, I hope that Emile won't take such a journey to-night. It's a dark night and the roads are in bad condition."
"Oh no! he won't go to-night," cried Madame Cardonnet; "my dear boy will not cause me such anxiety. To-morrow, at daybreak, if the river has returned to its usual limits, will be all right."
"To-morrow then," said Emile, sorely vexed, but yielding to his mother; "for it is very certain that I owe them a call to thank them for the cordial hospitality I received."
"You certainly do," said Monsieur Cardonnet, "but that, I trust, will be the extent of your relations with that family, with whom it does not suit me to associate. Don't make your visit too long: to-morrow evening I propose to talk with you, Emile."
At daybreak on the following morning, before his parents had risen, Emile ordered his horse saddled, and riding across the still disturbed and angry stream, started off at a gallop on the road to Châteaubrun.