His attitude evinced his feelings so plainly that Blanche shuddered. “Really, what I want of you is almost nothing,” she replied. “I only want you to watch the Marquis de Sairmeuse.” “Your husband?” “Yes; my husband. I want to know what he does, where he goes, and what persons he sees, I want to know how he spends all his time.” “What! now is that really all you want me to do?” asked Chupin eagerly. “For the present, yes. My plans are not yet decided; but circumstances will guide me.” “You can rely upon me,” replied Chupin at once; “but I must have a little time.” “Yes, I understand that. To-day is Saturday; can you give me a first report on Thursday?” “In five days? Yes, probably.” “In that case, meet me here on Thursday, at the same hour.” The conversation might have continued a few moments longer, but at this very moment Aunt Medea was heard exclaiming. “Some one is coming!” “Quick! we must not be seen together. Conceal yourself,” ejaculated Blanche, and while the old poacher disappeared with one bound into the forest, she hastily rejoined her chaperone. A few paces off she could perceive one of her father’s servants approaching. “Ah! mademoiselle,” exclaimed the lacquey, “we have been looking for you everywhere during the last three hours. Your father M. le Marquis--good heavens! what a misfortune! A physician has been sent for.” “Whatever has happened? Is my father dead?” “No, mademoiselle, no; but--how can I tell you. When the marquis went out this morning his actions were very strange, and--and--when he returned--” As he spoke the servant tapped his forehead with his forefinger. “You understand me, mademoiselle--when he came home his reason seemed to--to have left him!” Without waiting for the servant to finish, or for her terrified aunt to follow her, Blanche darted off in the direction of the chateau. “How is the marquis?” she inquired of the first servant she met. “He is in bed, and is quieter than he was,” answered the maid. But Blanche had already reached her father’s room. He was sitting up in bed, under the supervision of his valet and a footman. His face was livid, and a white foam had gathered on his lips. Still, he recognized his daughter. “Here you are,” said he. “I was waiting for you.” She paused on the threshold, and though she was neither tender-hearted nor impressionable, the sight seemed to appal her: “My father!” she faltered. “Good heavens! what has happened?”