“Why, like those in any peasant’s house, to be sure.” Chupin, it should be observed, knew nothing of the luxurious apartment which Chanlouineau had intended for Marie-Anne. Indeed, the only stranger who was aware of its existence was the leading upholsterer of Montaignac, for the young farmer had never confided his secret to any one in the neighbourhood, and the furniture had been brought to the Borderie one night in the stealthiest fashion. “How many doors are there to the house?” enquired Blanche. “Three: one opening into the garden, one into the orchard, and another communicating with the stables. The staircase is in the middle room.” “And is Marie-Anne quite alone at the Borderie?” “Quite alone at present; but I expect her brigand of a brother will join her before long.” After this reply, Blanche fell into so deep and prolonged a reverie that Chupin at last became impatient. He ventured to touch her on the arm, and, in a wily voice, enquired, “Well, what shall we decide?” Blanche drew back shuddering. “My mind is not yet made up,” she stammered. “I must reflect--I will see.” And then noting the old poacher’s discontented face, she added, “I will do nothing lightly. Don’t lose sight of the marquis. If he goes to the Borderie, and he will go there, I must be informed of it. If he writes, and he will write, try to procure one of his letters. I must see you every other day. Don’t rest! Try to deserve the good place I am reserving for you at Courtornieu. Now go!” The old rascal trudged off without attempting a rejoinder, but his manner plainly showed that he was intensely disappointed. “It serves me deucedly well right,” he growled. “I oughtn’t to have listened to such a silly, affected woman. She fills the air with her ravings, wants to kill everybody, burn and destroy everything. She only asks for an opportunity. Well, the occasion presents itself, and then of course her heart fails her. She draws back, and gets afraid!”