“I found her even more inflexible than Lacheneur.”

“They reject me, and they receive Chanlouineau, perhaps.”

“Chanlouineau is living there.”

“My God!  And Martial de Sairmeuse?”

“He is their familiar guest.  I saw him there.”  That each of these responses fell upon Maurice like a thunder-bolt was only too evident.

But M. d’Escorval had armed himself with the impassable courage of a surgeon who does not relax his hold on his instruments because the patient groans and writhes in agony.

M. d’Escorval wished to extinguish the last ray of hope in the heart of his son.

“It is evident that Monsieur Lacheneur has lost his reason!” exclaimed Maurice.

The baron shook his head despondently.  “I thought so myself, at first,” he murmured.

“But what does he say in justification of his conduct?  He must say something.”

“Nothing; he refuses any explanation.”

“And you, father, with all your knowledge of human nature, with all your wide experience, have not been able to fathom his intentions?”

“I have my suspicions,” M. d’Escorval replied; “but only suspicions.  It is possible that Lacheneur, listening to the voice of hatred, is dreaming of a terrible revenge.  Who knows if he does not think of organizing some conspiracy, of which he is to be the leader?  These suppositions would explain everything.  Chanlouineau is his aider and abettor; and he pretends to be reconciled to the Marquis de Sairmeuse in order to get information through him——­”

The blood had returned to the pale cheeks of Maurice.

“Such a conspiracy would not explain Monsieur Lacheneur’s obstinate rejection of my suit.”

“Alas! yes, my poor boy.  It is through Marie-Anne that Lacheneur exerts such an influence over Chanlouineau and the Marquis de Sairmeuse.  If she became your wife to-day, they would desert him tomorrow.  Then, too, it is precisely because he loves us that he is determined we shall not be mixed up in an enterprise the success of which is extremely doubtful.  But these are mere conjectures.”

“Then I see that it is necessary to submit, to be resigned; forget, I cannot,” faltered Maurice.

He said this because he wished to reassure his father; but he thought exactly the opposite.

“If Lacheneur is organizing a conspiracy,” he said, to himself, “he must need assistance.  Why should I not offer mine?  If I aid him in his preparations, if I share his hopes and his dangers, it will be impossible for him to refuse me the hand of his daughter.  Whatever he may desire to undertake, I can surely be of greater assistance than Chanlouineau.”

From that moment Maurice thought only of doing everything possible to hasten his convalescence.  This was so rapid, so extraordinarily rapid, as to astonish Abbe Midon, who had taken the place of the physician from Montaignac.