oor, passed
down the narrow path, gained the road, and disappeared.

Blanche pressed Aunt Medea's arm with a violence that made her cry out.

"Wait for me here," she said, in a strained, unnatural voice, "and
whatever happens, whatever you hear, if you wish to finish your days at
Courtornieu, not a word! Do not stir from this spot; I will return."

And she entered the cottage.

Marie-Anne, on going out, had left a candle burning on the table in the
front room.

Blanche seized it and boldly began an exploration of the dwelling.

She had gone over the arrangement of the Borderie so often in her own
mind that the rooms seemed familiar to her, she seemed to recognize
them.

In spite of Chupin's description the poverty of this humble abode
astonished her. There was no floor save the ground; the walls were
poorly whitewashed; all kinds of grain and bunches of herbs hung
suspended from the ceiling; a few heavy tables, wooden benches, and
clumsy chairs constituted the entire furniture.

Marie-Anne evidently occupied the back room. It was the only apartment
that contained a bed. This was one of those immense country affairs,
very high and broad, with tall fluted posts, draped with green serge
curtains, sliding back and forth on iron rings.

At the head of the bed, fastened to the wall, hung a receptacle for
holy-water. Blanche dipped her finger in the bowl; it was full to the
brim.

Beside the window was a wooden shelf supported by a hook, and on the
shelf stood a basin and bowl of the commonest earthenware.

"It must be confessed that my husband does not provide a very sumptuous
abode for his idol," said Mme. Blanche, with a sneer.

She was almost on the point of asking herself if jealousy had not led
her astray.

She remembered Martial's fastidious tastes, and she did not know how
to reconcile them with these meagre surroundings. Then, there was the
holy-water!

But her suspicions became stronger when she entered the kitchen.
Some savory compound was bubbling in a pot over the fire, and several
saucepans, in which fragrant stews were simmering, stood among the warm
ashes.

"All this cannot be for her," murmured Blanche.

Then she remembered the two windows in the story above which she had
seen illuminated by the trembling glow of the fire-light.

"I must examine the rooms above," she thought.

The staircase led up from the middle of the room; she knew this. She
quickly ascended the stairs, pushed open a