ailed at herself.

"To be afraid of something that does not exist, is folly!" she said,
vehemently. "To-night I will conquer my absurd weakness."

But when evening came all her brave resolution vanished, and the same
fear seized her when night appeared with its _cortege_ of spectres.

It is true that Mme. Blanche attributed her tortures at night to the
disquietude she suffered during the day.

For the officials were at Sairmeuse then, and she trembled. A mere
nothing might divert suspicion from Chupin and direct it toward her.
What if some peasant had seen her with Chupin? What if some trifling
circumstance should furnish a clew which would lead straight to
Courtornieu?

"When the investigation is over, I shall forget," she thought.

It ended, but she did not forget.

Darwin has said:

"It is when their safety is assured that great criminals really feel
remorse."

Mme. Blanche might have vouched for the truth of this assertion, made by
the most profound thinker and closest observer of the age.

And yet, the agony she was enduring did not make her abandon, for a
single moment, the plan she had conceived on the day of Martial's visit.

She played her part so well, that, deeply moved, almost repentant, he
returned five or six times, and at last, one day, he besought her to
allow him to remain.

But even the joy of this triumph did not restore her peace of mind.

Between her and her husband rose that dread apparition; and Marie-Anne's
distorted features were ever before her. She knew only too well that
this heart-broken man had no love to give her, and that she would never
have the slightest influence over him. And to crown all, to her already
intolerable sufferings was added another, more poignant than all the
rest.

Speaking one evening of Marie-Anne's death, Martial forgot himself,
and spoke of his oath of vengeance. He deeply regretted that Chupin was
dead, he remarked, for he should have experienced an intense delight in
making the wretch who murdered her _die_ a lingering death in the midst
of the most frightful tortures.

He spoke with extreme violence and in a voice vibrant with his still
powerful passion.

And Blanche, in terror, asked herself what would be her fate if her
husband ever discovered that she was the culprit--and he might discover
it.

She now began to regret that she had not kept the promise she had made
to her victim; and she resolved to commence the search for Marie-Anne's
chi