His words and accent showed the folly of further discussion. Lacheneur
understood this only too well, and seemed to despair.

"Ah! you are like Abbe Midon," he said, sadly; "you will not believe.
Who knows how much your coming here this morning will cost you? It is
said that no one can escape his destiny. But if some day the hand of the
executioner is laid upon your shoulder, remember that I warned you, and
do not curse me."

He paused, and seeing that even this sinister prophecy produced no
impression upon the baron, he pressed his hand as if to bid him an
eternal farewell, and opened the door to admit the Marquis de Sairmeuse.

Martial was, perhaps, annoyed at meeting M. d'Escorval; but he
nevertheless bowed with studied politeness, and began a lively
conversation with M. Lacheneur, telling him that the articles he had
selected at the chateau were on their way.

M. d'Escorval could do no more. To speak with Marie-Anne was impossible:
Chanlouineau and Jean would not let him go out of their sight.

He reluctantly departed, and oppressed by cruel forebodings, he
descended the hill which he had climbed an hour before so full of hope.

What should he say to Maurice?

He had reached the little grove of pines when a hurried footstep behind
him made him turn.

The Marquis de Sairmeuse was following him, and motioned him to