an ear in the enemy's camp," said
Lacheneur. "The Marquis de Sairmeuse will be our spy."

He was, for he soon resumed his daily visits to the cottage. It was now
December, and the roads were terrible; but neither rain, snow, nor mud
could keep Martial from the cottage.

He made his appearance generally as early as ten o'clock, seated himself
upon a stool in the shadow of a tall fireplace, and he and Marie-Anne
talked by the hour.

She seemed greatly interested in matters at Montaignac, and he told her
all that he knew in regard to affairs there.

Sometimes they were alone.

Lacheneur, Chanlouineau, and Jean were tramping about the country with
their merchandise. Business was prospering so well that M. Lacheneur had
purchased a horse in order to extend his journeys.

But Martial's conversation was generally interrupted by visitors. It was
really surprising to see how many peasants came to the house to speak to
M. Lacheneur. There was an interminable procession of them. And to each
of these peasants Marie-Anne had something to say in private. Then she
offered each man refreshments--the house seemed almost like a common
drinking-saloon.

But what can daunt the courage of a lover? Martial endured all this
without a murmur. He laughed and jested with the comers and goers; he
shook hands with them; sometimes he even drank with them.

He gave many other proofs of moral courage. He offered to assist M.
Lacheneur in making up his accounts; and once--it happened about the
middle of February--seeing Chanlouineau worrying over the composition of
a letter, he actually offered to act as his amanuensis.

"The d----d letter is not for me, but for an uncle of mine who is about
to marry off his daughter," said Chanlouineau.

Martial took a seat at the table, and, at Chanlouineau's dictation, but
not without many erasures, indited the following epistle:

"My dear friend--We are at last agreed, and the marriage has been
decided upon. We are now busy with preparations for the wedding, which
will take place on ----. We invite you to give us the pleasure of your
company. We count upon you, and be assured that the more friends you
bring with you the better we shall be pleased."

Had Martial seen the smile upon Chanlouineau's lips when he requested
him to leave the date for the wedding a blank, he would certainly have
suspected that he had been caught in a snare. But he was in love.

"Ah! Marquis," remarked his father one day