dependent. But how to accomplish it! Two or
three times, being a trifle indisposed, she had ventured to ask if her
breakfast might be brought to her room, but her request had been harshly
refused.

"If Aunt Medea is hungry, she will come down and take her place at the
table as usual," had been the response of Mme. Blanche.

To be treated in this way in a chateau where there were a dozen servants
standing about idle was hard indeed.

But now----

Every morning, in obedience to a formal order from Blanche, the cook
came up to receive Aunt Medea's commands; she was permitted to dictate
the bill-of-fare each day, and to order the dishes that she preferred.

These new joys awakened many strange thoughts in her mind, and
dissipated much of the regret which she had felt for the crime at the
Borderie.

The inquest was the subject of all her conversation with her niece. They
had all the latest information in regard to the facts developed by the
investigation through the butler, who took a great interest in such
matters, and who had won the good-will of the agents from Montaignac, by
making them familiar with the contents of his wine-cellar.

Through him, Blanche and her aunt learned that suspicion pointed to the
deceased Chupin. Had he not been seen prowling around the Borderie on
the very evening that the crime was committed? The testimony of the
young peasant who had warned Jean Lacheneur seemed decisive.

The motive was evident; at least, everyone thought so. Twenty persons
had heard Chupin declare, with frightful oaths, that he should never be
tranquil in mind while a Lacheneur was left upon earth.

So that which might have ruined Blanche, saved her; and the death of the
old poacher seemed really providential.

Why should she suspect that Chupin had revealed her secret before his
death?

When the butler told her that the judges and the police agents had
returned to Montaignac, she had great difficulty in concealing her joy.

"There is no longer anything to fear," she said to Aunt Medea.

She had, indeed, escaped the justice of man. There remained the justice
of God.

A few weeks before, this thought of "the justice of God" might, perhaps,
have brought a smile to the lips of Mme. Blanche.

She then regarded it as an imaginary evil, designed to hold timorous
spirits in check.

On the morning that followed her crime, she almost shrugged her
shoulders at the thought of Marie-Anne's dying threats.

She remem