.

"Because I suffered agony during the three hours that I spent in waiting
for you. What was the meaning of those despairing cries that I heard?
Why did you call for aid? I heard a death-rattle that made my hair stand
on end with terror. Why was it necessary for Chupin to bring you out in
his arms?"

Aunt Medea would have packed her trunks, perhaps, that very evening, had
she seen the glance which her niece bestowed upon her.

Blanche longed for power to annihilate this relative--this witness who
might ruin her by a word, but whom she would ever have beside her, a
living reproach for her crime.

"You do not answer me," insisted Aunt Medea.

Blanche was trying to decide whether it would be better for her to
reveal the truth, horrible as it was, or to invent some plausible
explanation.

To confess all! It would be intolerable. She would place herself, body
and soul, in Aunt Medea's power.

But, on the other hand, if she deceived her, was it not more than
probable that her aunt would betray her by some involuntary exclamation
when she heard of the crime which had been committed at the Borderie?

"For she is so stupid!" thought Blanche.

She felt that it would be the wisest plan, under such circumstances, to
be perfectly frank, to teach her relative her lesson, and to imbue her
with some of her own firmness.

Having come to this conclusion, she disdained all concealment.

"Ah, well!" she said, "I was jealous of Marie-Anne. I thought she was
Martial's mistress. I was half crazed, and I killed her."

She expected despairing cries, or a fainting fit; nothing of the kind.
Stupid though Aunt Medea was, she had divined the truth before she
interrogated her niece. Besides, the insults she had received for years
had extinguished every generous sentiment, dried up the springs of
emotion, and destroyed every particle of moral sensibility she had ever
possessed.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, "it is terrible! What if it should be discovered!"

Then she shed a few tears, but not more than she had often wept for some
trifle.

Blanche breathed more freely. Surely she could count upon the silence
and absolute submission of her dependent relative. Convinced of this,
she began to recount all the details of the frightful drama which had
been enacted at the Borderie.

She yielded to a desire which was stronger than her own will; to the
wild longing that sometimes unbinds the tongue of the worst criminals,
and forces them--irresis