Had a thunderbolt riven the earth at her feet, the murderess could not have been more terrified. Her first thought was that everything had been discovered; for what else could have brought Martial there? She almost decided to send word that she was not at home, or that she was extremely ill; when reason told her that she was perhaps alarming herself needlessly, and that in any case the worst was preferable to suspense. “Tell the marquis that I will be with him in a moment,” she at last replied. She desired a few minutes solitude to compose her features, to regain her self-possession, if possible, and conquer the nervous trembling that made her shake like a leaf. But in the midst of her uneasiness a sudden inspiration brought a malicious smile to her lip. “Ah!” she thought, “my agitation will seem perfectly natural. It may even be of service.” And yet as she descended the grand staircase, she could not help saying to herself: “Martial’s presence here is incomprehensible.” It was certainly very extraordinary; and he himself had not come to Courtornieu without considerable hesitation. But it was the only means he had of procuring several important documents which were indispensable in the revision of M. d’Escorval’s case. These documents, after the baron’s condemnation, had been left in the Marquis de Courtornieu’s hands. Now that the latter had gone out of his mind, it was impossible to ask him for them; and Martial was obliged to apply to his wife for permission to search for them among her father’s papers. He had said to himself that morning: “I will carry the baron’s letters of licence to Marie-Anne, and then I will push on to Courtornieu.” He arrived at the Borderie gay and confident, his heart full of hope; and found that Marie-Anne was dead. The discovery had been a terrible blow for Martial; and his conscience told him that he was not free from blame; that he had, at least, facilitated the perpetration of the crime. For it was indeed he who, by an abuse of influence, had caused Maurice’s arrest at Turin. But though he was capable of the basest perfidy when his love was at stake, he was incapable of virulent animosity. Marie-Anne was dead; he had it in his power to revoke the benefits he had conferred, but the thought of doing so never once occurred to him. And when Jean and Maurice upbraided him, his only revenge was to overwhelm them by his magnanimity. When he left the Borderie, pale as a ghost, his lips still cold from the kiss still printed on the dead girl’s brow, he said to himself: “For her sake, I will go to Courtornieu. In memory of her, the baron must be saved.”