"What are we doing here?" demanded Aunt Medea.

"Let me alone!" replied Mlle. Blanche, angrily; "hold your tongue!"

She heard the sound of wheels, the tramp of horses' hoofs, blows of the
whip, and oaths.

The wagons bearing the furniture and clothing belonging to M. Lacheneur
were coming. This noise Martial must have heard within the house, for
he came out, and after him came M. Lacheneur, Jean, Chanlouineau, and
Marie-Anne.

Everyone was soon busy in unloading the wagons, and positively, from the
movements of the young Marquis de Sairmeuse, one would have sworn that
he was giving orders; he came and went, hurrying to and fro, talking to
everybody, not even disdaining to lend a hand occasionally.

"He, a nobleman, makes himself at home in that wretched hovel!" Mlle.
Blanche said to herself. "How horrible! Ah! this dangerous creature will
do with him whatever she desires."

All this was nothing compared with what was to come. A third wagon
appeared, drawn by a single horse, and laden with pots of flowers and
shrubs.

This sight drew a cry of rage from Mlle. de Courtornieu which must have
carried terror to Aunt Medea's heart.

"Flowers!" she exclaimed, in a voice hoarse with passion. "He sends
flowers to her as he does to me--only he sends me a bouquet, while for