But just as she was most disquieted by the thought of her peril, a sudden inspiration brought a malicious smile to her lip.

“Ah!” she thought, “my agitation will seem perfectly natural.  It may even be made of service.”

As she descended the grand staircase, she could not help saying to herself: 

“Martial’s presence here is incomprehensible.”

It was certainly very extraordinary; and it had not been without much hesitation that he resolved upon this painful step.

But it was the only means of procuring several important documents which were indispensable in the revision of M. d’Escorval’s case.

These documents, after the baron’s condemnation, had been left in the hands of the Marquis de Courtornieu.  Now that he had lost his reason, it was impossible to ask him for them; and Martial was obliged to apply to the daughter for permission to search for them among her father’s papers.

This was why Martial said to himself that morning: 

“I will carry the baron’s safe-conduct to Marie-Anne, and then I will push on to Courtornieu.”

He arrived at the Borderie gay and confident, his heart full of hope.  Alas!  Marie-Anne was dead.

No one would ever know what a terrible blow it had been to Martial; and his conscience told him that he was not free from blame; that he had, at least, rendered the execution of the crime an easy matter.

For it was indeed he who, by abusing his influence, had caused the arrest of Maurice at Turin.

But though he was capable of the basest perfidy when his love was at stake, he was incapable of virulent animosity.

Marie-Anne was dead; he had it in his power to revoke the benefits he had conferred, but the thought of doing so never once occurred to him.  And when Jean and Maurice insulted him, he revenged himself only by overwhelming them by his magnanimity.  When he left the Borderie, pale as a ghost, his lips still cold from the kiss pressed on the brow of the dead, he said to himself: 

“For her sake, I will go to Courtornieu.  In memory of her, the baron must be saved.”

By the expression on the faces of the valets when he dismounted in the court-yard of the chateau and asked to see Mme. Blanche, the marquis was again reminded of the profound sensation which this unexpected visit would produce.  But, what did it matter to him?  He was passing through one of those crises in which the mind can conceive of no further misfortune, and is therefore indifferent to everything.

Still he trembled when they ushered him into the blue drawing-room.  He remembered the room well.  It was here that Blanche had been wont to receive him in days gone by, when his fancy was vacillating between her and Marie-Anne.

How many pleasant hours they had passed together here!  He seemed to see Blanche again, as she was then, radiant with youth, gay and laughing.  Her naivete was affected, perhaps, but was it any the less charming on that account?