The barber bowed low to the marquis and left the apartment.
"That man is a deep scoundrel," said Villebelle, as he watched Touquet depart. "For a long time I thought he was only a schemer and a thief; why should he still be necessary to me? But I can't charge Germain to speak to Julia. Julia! I believed for a little while that I loved her. Ah, what a difference there is between that passionate, vindictive woman and the sweet and charming Blanche. Why should Julia love me so passionately, and yet I cannot kindle in the breast of that timid child a spark of the fire which consumes me?"
While the marquis was dreaming of Blanche, who, sad and solitary in her lonely room, passed her days in praying to Heaven and weeping for her lover, Julia, after her nocturnal meeting with Villebelle, sought to gain speech with the young prisoner. The watchfulness of the marquis' people did not prevent her from gliding through the park; but though she drew near the lake it was impossible to reach the tower; they had taken away all the boats for fear that one of them should serve as a means of approaching Blanche's windows. As for Chaudoreille, being ordered to watch all who entered or left the château, he hid himself in a thick bush, which was about two cannon shots from the entrance to the castle; and there, having Rolande bare at one side by way of precaution, and a bottle of wine at the other, he passed his day with a pack of cards, studying a new manner of turning the king and of re-turning the aces, hiding entirely under his immense mantle at the slightest sound.
The day after his arrival at the château, the barber commenced his search. Not imagining for a moment that Julia would conceal herself at Sarcus, he visited Damerancourt, and Grandvilliers, and returned towards the evening to Sarcus. As he approached the village, he perceived in front of him a little man enveloped in a brown cloak, under which it was difficult to distinguish his body, but a long sword, whose handle protruded from one side of his cloak, betrayed who carried it.
"It's Chaudoreille," said the barber to himself, and he hastened that he might catch up with him. The little man, when he heard someone behind him, was seized with terror, and also tried to walk faster, but the unfortunate cloak entangled his legs at every step, and soon he felt himself pulled by the handle of his sword. He turned and was petrified at seeing the barber Touquet.
"Where are you going, Chevalier Chaudoreille?" said the barber, in a mocking tone.
"Where am I going? By jingo! How are you, my good friend?"
"You clown," said the barber, "I've heard some fine things about you."
"One mustn't believe all that one hears, my dear Touquet."
"And don't you think I ought to believe monsieur le marquis? It was you who told him about Blanche, despite your vows."