Money was needed at the farm.  The guests were unable to obtain any without betraying their whereabouts, and Father Poignot’s little store was almost exhausted.

Abbe Midon was wondering what they were to do, when Marie-Anne told him of the will which Chanlouineau had made in her favor, and of the money concealed beneath the hearth-stone in the best chamber.

“I might go to the Borderie at night,” suggested Marie-Anne, “enter the house, which is unoccupied, obtain the money and bring it here.  I have a right to do so, have I not?”

But the priest did not approve this step.

“You might be seen,” said he, “and who knows—­perhaps arrested.  If you were questioned, what plausible explanation could you give?”

“What shall I do, then?”

“Act openly; you are not compromised.  Make your appearance in Sairmeuse to-morrow as if you had just returned from Piedmont; go to the notary, take possession of your property, and install yourself at the Borderie.”

Marie-Anne shuddered.

“Live in Chanlouineau’s house,” she faltered.  “I alone!”

“Heaven will protect you, my dear child.  I can see only advantages in your installation at the Borderie.  It will be easy to communicate with you; and with ordinary precautions there can be no danger.  Before your departure we will decide upon a place of rendezvous, and two or three times a week you can meet Father Poignot there.  And, in the course of two or three months you can be still more useful to us.  When people have become accustomed to your residence at the Borderie, we will take the baron there.  His convalescence will be much more rapid there, than here in this cramped and narrow loft, where we are obliged to conceal him now, and where he is really suffering for light and air.”

So it was decided that Father Poignot should accompany Marie-Anne to the frontier that very night; there she would take the diligence that ran between Piedmont and Montaignac, passing through the village of Sairmeuse.

It was with the greatest care that the abbe dictated to Marie-Anne the story she was to tell of her sojourn in foreign lands.  All that she said, and all her answers to questions must tend to prove that Baron d’Escorval was concealed near Turin.

The plan was carried out in every particular; and the next day, about eight o’clock, the people of Sairmeuse were greatly astonished to see Marie-Anne alight from the diligence.

“Monsieur Lacheneur’s daughter has returned!”

The words flew from lip to lip with marvellous rapidity, and soon all the inhabitants of the village were gathered at the doors and windows.

They saw the poor girl pay the driver, and enter the inn, followed by a boy bearing a small trunk.

In the city, curiosity has some shame; it hides itself while it spies into the affairs of its neighbors; but in the country it has no such scruples.