“After all, what does it matter to me?” remarked Diana, making an effort to recover herself.  “I will speak about this poor woman’s case to my father;” and, with her limbs bending under her, she left the room.

As Daumon returned from accompanying her to the door, the Counsellor rubbed his hands.

“Things are getting decidedly warm,” muttered he.

He felt that he must gain some further information, and this he could not get from Norbert.  It would be also as well, he thought, to tell the sheriff to stay proceedings relative to the Widow Rouleau.  By this means he might secure another interview with Mademoiselle de Laurebourg, and perhaps win the poor girl’s confidence.

As Diana rode home, she abandoned herself to the grief which the intelligence that she had just heard had caused her, for the foresight of the framers of the law had rendered all her deeply laid plans of no avail.

“The Duke of Champdoce,” murmured she to herself, “will never consent to his son’s marriage with so scantily a dowered woman as I am; but as soon as Norbert is of age he can marry me, in spite of all his father’s opposition; but, oh! ’tis a dreary time to wait.”

For a moment she dared to think of the possible death of the old man; but she shuddered as she remembered how strong and healthy he was, and felt that the frail edifice of her hope had been crushed into ten thousand atoms.  For all this, however, she did not lose courage.  She was not one of those women who, at the first check, beat a retreat.  She had not yet decided upon a fresh point of departure, but she had fully made up her mind that she would gain the victory.  The first thing was to see Norbert with as little delay as possible.  Just then the carriage pulled up at the widow’s cottage, which she entered hastily.

“I have seen Daumon,” said she.  “Do not be alarmed; all matters will be arranged shortly.”

Then, without listening to the thanks and blessings which the poor woman showered upon her, she said,—­

“Give me a piece of paper to write on,” and, standing near the casement, she wrote in pencil on a soiled scrap of paper the following words:—­

“Diana would, perhaps, have been at the usual meeting place to-day, in spite of the weather, had she not been compelled to visit a poor woman in a contrary direction.  Upon the same business, she will have to call to-morrow at the house of a man called Daumon.”

She folded the note and said,—­

“This letter must be taken at once to M. Norbert de Champdoce.  Who will carry it?”

Francoise had made a smock frock for one of the farm servants at Champdoce, and the delivery of it formed a good excuse for going up to the Chateau, and she willingly undertook the errand.

The next day, in the midst of a heavy shower of rain, Norbert made his appearance at Daumon’s office, saying, as a pretext for his visit, that he had exhausted his stock of money, and required a fresh supply.  He too was feeling very unhappy, for he feared that this father might entertain matrimonial designs for him which would be utterly opposed to his passion for Mademoiselle de Laurebourg.