After the old physician of Vigano had left the Borderie with his precious burden, Marie-Anne fell into a state of bitter despondency. Many in her situation would perhaps have experienced a feeling of relief, for had she not succeeded in concealing the outcome of her frailty, which none, save perhaps the Abbe Midon, so much as suspected? Hence, her despondency may at first sight seem to have been uncalled for. But then, let it be remembered that the sublime instinct of maternity had been awakened in her breast; and when she saw the physician leave her, carrying away her child she felt as if her soul and body were being rent asunder. When might she hope to set her eyes again on this poor babe who was doubly dear to her by reason of the very sorrow and anguish he had cost her? Ah, if it had not been for her promise to Maurice, she would have braved public opinion and kept her infant son at the Borderie. Had she not braved calumny already? She had been accused of having three lovers. Chanlouineau, Martial, and Maurice. The comments of the villagers had not affected her; but she had been tortured, and was still tortured by the thought that these people didn’t know the truth. Maurice was her husband, and yet she dare not proclaim the fact; she was “Mademoiselle Lacheneur” to all around--a maiden--a living lie. Surely such a situation accounted only too completely for her despondency and distress. And when she thought of her brother she positively shuddered with dismal apprehensions. Having learnt that Jean was roving about the country she sent for him; but it was not without considerable persuasion that he consented to come and see her at the Borderie. A glance at his appearance sufficed to explain all Chupin’s terror. The young fellow’s clothes were in tatters, and the expression of his weather-stained, unshaven, unkempt face was ferocious in the extreme. When he entered the cottage, Marie-Anne recoiled with fear. She did not recognize him until he spoke. “It is I, sister,” he said gloomily. “What, you--my poor Jean! you!” He surveyed himself from head to foot, and with a sneering laugh retorted, “Well, really, I shouldn’t like to meet myself at dusk in the forest.” Marie-Anne fancied she could detect a threat behind this ironical remark, and her apprehensions were painful in the extreme. “What a life you must be leading, my poor brother!” she said after a brief pause. “Why didn’t you come here sooner? Now, I have you here, I shall not let you go. You will not desert me. I need protection and love so much. You will remain with me?” “That’s impossible, Marie-Anne.” “And why?”