CHAPTER VII

On the day following this extraordinary series of adventures,
explanations between those who were mixed up in them, whether as actors
or spectators, were the order of the day. It was not till Maitre
Quennebert reached the house of the friend who had offered to put him up
for the night that it first dawned on him, that the interest which the
Chevalier de Moranges had awakened in his mind had made him utterly
forget the bag containing the twelve hundred livres which he owed to the
generosity of the widow. This money being necessary to him, he went back
to her early next morning. He found her hardly recovered from her
terrible fright. Her swoon had lasted far beyond the time when the
notary had left the house; and as Angelique, not daring to enter the
bewitched room, had taken refuge in the most distant corner of her
apartments, the feeble call of the widow was heard by no one. Receiving
no answer, Madame Rapally groped her way into the next room, and finding
that empty, buried herself beneath the bedclothes, and passed the rest of
the night dreaming of drawn swords, duels, and murders. As soon as it
was light she ventured into the mysterious room once more; without
calling her servants, and found the bag of crowns lying open on the
floor, with the coins scattered all around, the partition broken, and the
tapestry hanging from it in shreds. The widow was near fainting again:
she imagined at first she saw stains of blood everywhere, but a closer
inspection having somewhat reassured her, she began to pick up the coins
that had rolled to right and left, and was agreeably surprised to find
the tale complete. But how and why had Maitre Quennebert abandoned them?
What had become of him? She had got lost in the most absurd