Then she resumed her seat by the fire, and kept her eyes fastened upon the marquis.

Could this really be the merry, pretty Mihonne, who had been the confidant of the little fairy of Verberie?

Valentine herself would never have recognized this poor, shrivelled, emaciated old woman.

Only those who are familiar with country life know what hard work and worry can do to make a woman old.

The bargain, meanwhile, was being discussed between Joseph and Fougeroux, who offered a ridiculously small sum for the chateau, saying that he would only buy it to tear down, and sell the materials.  Joseph enumerated the beams, joists, ashlars, and the iron-work, and volubly praised the old domain.

As for Mihonne, the presence of the marquis had a wonderful effect upon her.

If the faithful servant had hitherto never breathed the secret confided to her probity, it was none the less heavy for her to bear.

After marrying, and being so harshly treated that she daily prayed for death to come to her relief, she began to blame everybody but herself for her misfortunes.

Weakly superstitious, she traced back the origin of her sorrows to the day when she took the oath on the holy gospel during mass.

Her constant prayers that God would send her a child to soothe her wounded heart, being unanswered, she was convinced that she was cursed with barrenness for having assisted in the abandonment of an innocent, helpless babe.

She often thought, that by revealing everything, she could appease the wrath of Heaven, and once more enjoy a happy home.  Nothing but her love for Valentine gave her strength to resist a constant temptation to confess everything.

But to-day the sight of Louis decided her to relieve her mind.  She thought there could be no danger in confiding in Gaston’s brother.  Alas for woman’s tongue!

The sale was finally concluded.  It was agreed that Fougeroux should give five thousand two hundred and eighty francs in cash for the chateau, and land attached; and Joseph was to have the old furniture.

The marquis and the new owner of the chateau shook hands, and noisily called out the essential word: 

“Agreed!”

Fougeroux went himself to get the “bargain bottle” of old wine.

The occasion was favorable to Mihonne; she walked quickly over to where the marquis stood, and said in a nervous whisper: 

“M. the marquis, I must speak with you apart.”

“What can you want to tell me, my good woman?”

“It is a secret of life and death.  This evening, at dusk, meet me in the walnut wood, and I will tell you everything.”

Hearing her husband’s approaching step, she darted back to her corner by the fire.

Fougeroux filled the glasses, and drank to the health of Clameran.

As they returned to the boat, Louis tried to think what could be the object of this singular rendezvous.