From that moment Maurice dwelt upon this thought; and the result was that he no longer pined and fretted, but did all he could to hasten his convalescence. This passed so rapidly that the Abbe Midon, who had taken the place of the physician from Montaignac, was positively astonished. Madame d’Escorval was delighted at her son’s wonderful improvement in health and spirits, and declared that she would never have believed he could be so soon and so easily consoled. The baron did not try to diminish his wife’s satisfaction, though he regarded this almost miraculous recovery with considerable distrust, having, indeed, a vague perception of the truth. Skilfully, however, as he questioned his son he could draw nothing from him; for Maurice had decided to keep whatever determinations he had formed a secret even from his parents. What good would it do to trouble them? and, besides, he feared remonstrance and opposition; which he was anxious to avoid although firmly resolved to carry out his plans, even if he were compelled to leave the paternal roof. One day in the second week of September the abbe declared that Maurice might resume his ordinary life, and that, as the weather was pleasant it would be well for him to spend much of his time in the open air. In his delight, Maurice embraced the worthy priest, at the same time remarking that he had felt afraid the shooting season would pass by without his bagging a single bird. In reality he cared but little for a day on the cover; the partiality he feigned being prompted by the idea that “shooting” would furnish him with an excuse for frequent and protracted absences from home. He had never felt happier then he did the morning when, with his gun over his shoulder, he crossed the Oiselle and started for M. Lacheneur’s cottage at La Reche. He had just reached the little pine grove, and was about to pause, when he perceived Jean Lacheneur and Chanlouineau leave the house, each laden with a pedlar’s pack. This circumstance delighted him, as he might now expect to find M. Lacheneur and Marie-Anne alone in the cottage. He hastened up the slope and lifted the door latch without pausing to rap. Marie-Anne and her father were kneeling on the hearth in front of a blazing fire. On hearing the door open, they turned; and at the sight of Maurice, they both sprang to their feet. Lacheneur with a composed look on his face, and Marie-Anne blushing to the roots of her hair. “What brings you here?” they exclaimed in the same breath. Under other circumstances, Maurice d’Escorval would have been dismayed by such an unengaging greeting, but now he scarcely noticed it. “You have no business to return here against my wishes, and after what I said to you, M. d’Escorval,” exclaimed Lacheneur, rudely.