by the grooms.

"The duke was riding an exceedingly vicious beast," said these men. "She
was always taking fright and shying at everything."

The following week Jean Lacheneur left the neighborhood.

The conduct of this singular man had caused much comment. When
Marie-Anne died, he at first refused his inheritance.

"I wish nothing that came to her through Chanlouineau!" he said
everywhere, thus calumniating the memory of his sister as he had
calumniated her when alive.

Then, after a short absence, and without any apparent reason, he
suddenly changed his mind.

He not only accepted the property, but made all possible haste to obtain
possession of it. He made many excuses; and, if one might believe him,
he was not acting in his own interest, but merely conforming to the
wishes of his deceased sister; and he declared that not a penny would go
into his pockets.

This much is certain, as soon as he obtained legal possession of the
estate, he sold all the property, troubling himself but little in regard
to the price he received, provided the purchasers paid cash.

He reserved only the furniture of the sumptuously adorned chamber at the
Borderie. These articles he burned.

This strange act was the talk of the neighborhood.

"The poor young man has lost his reason!" was the almost universal
opinion.

And those who doubted it, doubted it no longer when it became known
that Jean Lacheneur had formed an engagement with a company of strolling
players who stopped at Montaignac for a few days.

But the young man had not wanted for good advice and kind friends. M.
d'Escorval and the abbe had exerted all their eloquence to induce him to
return to Paris, and complete his studies; but in vain.

The necessity for concealment no longer existed, either in the case of
the baron or the priest.

Thanks to Martial de Sairmeuse they were now installed, the one in the
presbytery, the other at Escorval, as in days gone by.

Acquitted at his new trial, restored to the possession of his property,
reminded of his frightful fall only by a very slight lameness, the baron
would have deemed himself a fortunate man, had it not been for his great
anxiety on his son's account.

Poor Maurice! his heart was broken by the sound of the clods of earth
falling upon Marie-Anne's coffin; and his very life now seemed dependent
upon the hope of finding his child.

Assured of the powerful assistance of Abbe Midon, he had confessed all
to his fa