not flattered by this triumph of her beauty. D'Escorval remains to be
disposed of----"

But this was the point upon which Martial was most exercised.

He had, it is true, seen this rival rudely dismissed by M. Lacheneur;
and yet the anger of the latter had seemed to him too great to be
absolutely real.

He suspected a comedy, but for whose benefit? For his, or for
Chanlouineau's? And yet, what could possibly be the motive?

"And yet," he reflected, "my hands are tied; and I cannot call this
little d'Escorval to account for his insolence. To swallow such an
affront in silence is hard. Still, he is brave, there is no denying
that; perhaps I can find some other way to provoke his anger. But even
then, what could I do? If I harmed a hair of his head, Marie-Anne would
never forgive me. Ah! I would give a handsome sum in exchange for some
little device to send him out of the country."

Revolving in his mind these plans, whose frightful consequences he could
neither calculate nor foresee, Martial was walking up the avenue leading
to the chateau, when he heard hurried footsteps behind him.

He turned, and seeing two men running after him and motioning him to
stop, he paused.

It was Chupin, accompanied by one of his sons.

This old rascal had been enrolled among the servants charged with