Blanche shuddered. No other threat could have had such influence over her. “You shall accompany us, aunt,” said she: “I promise it.” And then in a gentle voice, she added: “But it’s quite unnecessary to threaten me. You have been cruel, aunt, and at the same time unjust. If you have been unhappy in our house, you have only yourself to blame. Why haven’t you ever said anything? I attributed your complaisance to your affection for me. How was I to know that a woman so quiet and modest as yourself longed for fine dresses. Confess that it was impossible. Had I known--But rest easy, aunt, I will atone for my neglect.” And as Aunt Medea, having obtained all she desired, stammered an excuse. “Nonsense!” rejoined Blanche; “let us forget this foolish quarrel. You forgive me, don’t you?” And the two ladies embraced each other with the greatest effusion, like two friends, united after a misunderstanding. Neither of them, however, was in the least degree deceived by this mock reconciliation. “It will be best for me to keep on the alert,” thought the dependent relative. “God only knows with what joy my dear niece would send me to join Marie-Anne.” Perhaps a similar thought flitted through Blanche’s mind. “I’m bound to this dangerous, perfidious creature for ever now,” she reflected. “I’m no longer my own mistress; I belong to her. When she commands me, I must obey, no matter what may be her fancy--and she has forty years’ humiliation and servitude to avenge.” The prospect of such a life made the young marchioness tremble; and she racked her brain to discover some way of freeing herself from such intolerable thraldom. Would it be possible to induce Aunt Medea to live independently in her own house, served by her own servants? Might she succeed in persuading this silly old woman, who still longed for finery, to marry? A handsome marriage portion will always attract a husband. However, in either case, Blanche would require money--a large sum of money, which no one must be in a position to claim an account of. With this idea she took possession of over two hundred and fifty thousand francs, in bank notes and coin, belonging to her father, and put away in one of his private drawers. This sum represented the Marquis de Courtornieu’s savings during the past three years. No one knew he had laid it aside, except his daughter; and now that he had lost his reason, Blanche could take it for her own use, without the slightest danger. “With this,” thought she, “I can enrich Aunt Medea whenever I please without having recourse to Martial.”