e night was still, but very dark, and the progress of the two women
was often retarded by hedges and ditches. Twice Blanche lost her way.
Again and again, Aunt Medea stumbled over the rough ground, and bruised
herself against the stones; she groaned, she almost wept, but her
terrible niece was pitiless.

"Come!" she said, "or I will leave you to find your way as best you
can."

And the poor dependent struggled on.

At last, after a tramp of more than an hour, Blanche ventured to
breathe. She recognized Chanlouineau's house, and she paused in the
little grove of which Chupin had spoken.

"Are we at our journey's end?" inquired Aunt Medea, timidly.

"Yes, but be quiet. Remain where you are, I wish to look about a
little."

"What! you are leaving me alone? Blanche, I entreat you! What are you
going to do? _Mon Dieu_! you frighten me. I am afraid, Blanche!"

But her niece had gone. She was exploring the grove, seeking Chupin. She
did not find him.

"I knew the wretch was deceiving me," she muttered through her set
teeth. "Who knows but Martial and Marie-Anne are there in that house
now, mocking me, and laughing at my credulity?"

She rejoined Aunt Medea, whom she found half dead with fright, and both
advanced to the edge of the woods, which commanded a view of the front
of the house.

A flickering, crimson light gleamed through two windows in the second
story. Evidently there was a fire in the room.

"That is right," murmured Blanche, bitterly; "Martial is such a chilly
person!"

She was about to approach the house, when a peculiar whistle rooted her
to the spot.

She looked about her, and, in spite of the darkness, she discerned in
the footpath leading to the Borderie, a man laden with articles which
she could not distinguish.

Almost immediately a woman, certainly Marie-Anne, left the house and
advanced to meet him.

They exchanged a few words and then walked together to the house. Soon
after the man emerged without his burden and went away.

"What does this mean?" murmured Mme. Blanche.

She waited patiently for more than half an hour, and as nothing stirred:

"Let us go nearer," she said to Aunt Medea, "I wish to look through the
windows."

They were approaching the house when, just as they reached the little
garden, the door of the cottage opened so suddenly that they had
scarcely time to conceal themselves in a clump of lilac-bushes.

Marie-Anne came out, imprudently leaving the key in the d