“We shall never be reconciled.”

“Hum!” he growled, after deliberating awhile.  “And if I should aid you, what compensation will you give me?”

“I will give you whatever you desire—­money, land, a house——­”

“Many thanks.  I desire something quite different.”

“What?  Name your conditions.”

Chupin reflected a moment, then he replied: 

“This is what I desire. I have enemies—­I do not even feel safe in my own house.  My sons abuse me when I have been drinking; my wife is quite capable of poisoning my wine; I tremble for my life and for my money.  I cannot endure this existence much longer.  Promise me an asylum in the Chateau de Courtornieu, and I am yours.  In your house I shall be safe.  But let it be understood, I will not be ill-treated by the servants as I was at Sairmeuse.”

“It shall be as you desire.”

“Swear it by your hope of heaven.”

“I swear.”

There was such an evident sincerity in her accent that Chupin was reassured.  He leaned toward her, and said, in a low voice: 

“Now tell me your business.”

His small gray eyes glittered with a demoniac light; his thin lips were tightly drawn over his sharp teeth; he was evidently expecting some proposition to murder, and he was ready.

His attitude showed this so plainly that Blanche shuddered.

“Really, what I ask of you is almost nothing,” she replied.  “I only wish you to watch the Marquis de Sairmeuse.”

“Your husband?”

“Yes; my husband.  I wish to know what he does, where he goes, and what persons he sees.  I wish to know how each moment of his time is spent.”

“What! seriously, frankly, is this all that you desire of me?” Chupin asked.

“For the present, yes.  My plans are not yet decided.  It depends upon circumstances what action I shall take.”

“You can rely upon me,” he responded; “but I must have a little time.”

“Yes, I understand.  To-day is Saturday; will you be ready to report on Thursday?”

“In five days?  Yes, probably.”

“In that case, meet me here on Thursday, at this same hour.”

A cry from Aunt Medea interrupted them.

“Someone is coming!” Mme. Blanche exclaimed.  “Quick! we must not be seen together.  Conceal yourself.”

With a bound the old poacher disappeared in the forest.

A servant had approached Aunt Medea, and was speaking to her with great animation.

Blanche hastened toward them.

“Ah!  Mademoiselle,” exclaimed the servant, “we have been seeking you everywhere for three hours.  Your father, monsieur le marquis—­mon Dieu! what a misfortune!  A physician has been summoned.”

“Is my father dead?”

“No, Mademoiselle, no; but—­how can I tell you?  When the marquis went out this morning his actions were very strange, and—­and—­when he returned——­”