“Oh! sir, I entreat you.”

“But one should not hesitate, my child, when duty speaks.  You owe this sacrifice to an innocent man who has been ruined through your father.”

He explained to her all that she must say, and did not leave her until she had promised to see the marquis in person.  But the cause of her repugnance was not what the abbe supposed.  Her reputation!  Alas! she knew that was lost forever.  No, it was not that.

A fortnight before she would not have been disquieted by the prospect of this interview.  Then, though she no longer hated Martial, he was perfectly indifferent to her, while now——­

Perhaps in choosing the Croix d’Arcy for the place of meeting, she hoped that this spot, haunted by so many cruel memories, would restore her former aversion.

On pursuing the path leading to the place of rendezvous, she said to herself that Martial would undoubtedly wound her by the tone of careless gallantry which was habitual to him.

But in this she was mistaken.  Martial was greatly agitated, but he did not utter a word that was not connected with the baron.

It was only when the conference was ended, and he had consented to all the conditions, that he said, sadly: 

“We are friends, are we not?”

In an almost inaudible voice she answered: 

“Yes.”

And that was all.  He remounted his horse which had been held by a servant, and departed in the direction of Montaignac.

Breathless, with cheeks on fire, Marie-Anne watched him as he disappeared; and then her inmost heart was revealed as by a lightning flash.

“Mon Dieu! wretch that I am!” she exclaimed.  “Do I not love? is it possible that I could ever love any other than Maurice, my husband, the father of my child?”

Her voice was still trembling with emotion when she recounted the details of the interview to the abbe.  But he did not perceive it.  He was thinking only of the baron.

“I was sure that Martial would agree to everything; I was so certain of it that I have made all the arrangements for the baron to leave the farm.  He will await, at your house, a safe-conduct from His Majesty.

“The close air and the heat of the loft are retarding the baron’s recovery,” the abbe pursued, “so be prepared for his coming to-morrow evening.  One of the Poignot boys will bring over all our baggage.  About eleven o’clock we will put Monsieur d’Escorval in a carriage; and we will all sup together at the Borderie.”

“Heaven comes to my aid!” thought Marie-Anne as she walked homeward.

She thought that she would no longer be alone, that Mme. d’Escorval would be with her to talk to her of Maurice, and that all the friends who would surround her would aid her in driving away the thoughts of Martial, which haunted her.

So the next day she was more cheerful than she had been for months, and once, while putting her little house in order, she was surprised to find herself singing at her work.