heart. It is a revenge like this that
I desire. It is due me; I will have it!"

She saw Chupin every two or three days; sometimes going to the place of
meeting alone, sometimes accompanied by Aunt Medea.

The old poacher came punctually, although he was beginning to tire of
his task.

"I am risking a great deal," he growled. "I supposed that Jean Lacheneur
would go and live at the Borderie with his sister. Then, I should be
safe. But no; the brigand continues to prowl around with his gun under
his arm, and to sleep in the woods at night. What game is he hunting?
Father Chupin, of course. On the other hand, I know that my rascally
innkeeper over there has abandoned his inn and mysteriously disappeared.
Where is he? Hidden behind one of these trees, perhaps, deciding in
which portion of my body he shall plunge his knife."

What irritated the old poacher most of all was, that after two months of
surveillance, he had arrived at the conclusion that, whatever might have
been the relations existing between Martial and Marie-Anne in the past,
all was now over between them.

But Blanche would not admit this.

"Say that they are more cunning than you, Father Chupin."

"Cunning--and how? Since I have been watching the marquis, he has not
once passed outside the fortifications. On the other hand, the postman
at Sairmeuse, who has been adroitly questioned by my wife, declares that
he has not taken a single letter to the Borderie."

Had it not been for the hope of a safe and pleasant retreat at
Courtornieu, Chupin would have abandoned his task; and, in spite of
the tempting rewards that were promised him, he had relaxed his
surveillance.

If he still came to the rendezvous, it was only because he had fallen
into the habit of claiming some money for his expenses each time.

And when Mme. Blanche demanded an account of everything that Martial had
done, he told her anything that came into his head.

Mme. Blanche soon discovered this. One day, early in September, she
interrupted him as he began the same old story, and, looking him
steadfastly in the eye, she said:

"Either you are betraying me, or you are a fool. Yesterday Martial and
Marie-Anne spent a quarter of an hour together at the Croix d'Arcy."

CHAPTER XLIV

The old physician at Vigano, who had come to Marie-Anne's aid, was an
honorable man. His intellect was of a superior order, and his heart was
equal to his intelligence. He knew life; he had loved and suf