“I think that such is my duty, and I shall fulfil it, however painful it may be.”

She knew perfectly well that her deposition would be the baron’s death-warrant; but she persisted in her resolve, veiling her hatred and her insensibility under the name of virtue.

But we must do her the justice to admit that her testimony was sincere.

She really believed that it was Baron d’Escorval who was with the rebels, and whose opinion Chanlouineau had asked.

This error on the part of Mlle. Blanche rose from the custom of designating Maurice by his Christian name, which prevailed in the neighborhood.

In speaking of him everyone said “Monsieur Maurice.”  When they said “Monsieur d’Escorval,” they referred to the baron.

After the crushing evidence against the accused had been written and signed in her fine and aristocratic hand-writing, Mlle. de Courtornieu bore herself with partly real and partly affected indifference.  She would not, on any account, have had people suppose that anything relating to these plebeians—­these low peasants—­could possibly disturb her proud serenity.  She would not so much as ask a single question on the subject.

But this superb indifference was, in great measure, assumed.  In her inmost soul she was blessing this conspiracy which had caused so many tears and so much blood to flow.  Had it not removed her rival from her path?

“Now,” she thought, “the marquis will return to me, and I will make him forget the bold creature who has bewitched him!”

Chimeras!  The charm had vanished which had once caused the love of Martial de Sairmeuse to oscillate between Mlle. de Courtornieu and the daughter of Lacheneur.

Captivated at first by the charms of Mlle. Blanche, he soon discovered the calculating ambition and the utter worldliness concealed beneath such seeming simplicity and candor.  Nor was he long in discerning her intense vanity, her lack of principle, and her unbounded selfishness; and, comparing her with the noble and generous Marie-Anne, his admiration was changed into indifference, or rather repugnance.

He did return to her, however, or at least he seemed to return to her, actuated, perhaps, by that inexplicable sentiment that impels us sometimes to do that which is most distasteful to us, and by a feeling of discouragement and despair, knowing that Marie-Anne was now lost to him forever.

He also said to himself that a pledge had been interchanged between the duke and the Marquis de Courtornieu; that he, too, had given his word, and that Mlle. Blanche was his betrothed.

Was it worth while to break this engagement?  Would he not be compelled to marry some day?  Why not fulfil the pledge that had been made?  He was as willing to marry Mlle. de Courtornieu as anyone else, since he was sure that the only woman whom he had ever truly loved—­the only woman whom he ever could love—­was never to be his.