In a rambling fashion young Chupin then explained that he had been obliged to leave Sairmeuse on account of the numerous enemies he had there, that he had been unable to find his father’s hidden treasure, and that he was consequently without resources. “That’ll do,” interrupted Blanche, and then in far from a friendly manner, she remarked: “I don’t at all understand why you should apply to me. You and all the rest of your family have anything but an enviable reputation at Sairmeuse; still, as you are from that part of the country, I am willing to aid you a little on condition you don’t apply to me again.” Chupin listened to this homily with a half cringing, half impudent air; but when Blanche had finished he raised his head, and proudly said: “I don’t ask for alms.” “What do you ask for, then?” “My dues.” Blanche’s heart sank, and yet she had courage enough to glance disdainfully at Chupin, and reply: “What! do I owe you anything?” “You don’t owe me anything personally, madame; but you owe a heavy debt to my deceased father. Whose service did he perish in? Poor old man! he loved you devotedly. His last words were about you. ‘A terrible thing has just happened at the Borderie, my boy,’ said he. ‘The young marchioness hated Marie-Anne, and she has poisoned her. If it hadn’t been for me she would have been lost. I am about to die, so let the whole blame rest on me; for it won’t hurt me when I’m under the sod, and it will save the young lady. And by-and-by she will reward you; so that as long as you keep the secret you will want for nothing.’” Great as was young Chupin’s impudence he paused abruptly, amazed by the air of perfect composure with which Blanche listened to him. In face of such wonderful dissimulation he almost doubted the truth of his father’s story. The marchioness’s self possession was indeed surprising. She felt that if she once yielded she would always be at this wretch’s mercy, as she already was at Aunt Medea’s. “In other words,” said she, calmly, “you accuse me of having murdered Mademoiselle Lacheneur; and you threaten to denounce me if I don’t yield to your demands.” Chupin nodded his head in acquiescence. “Very well!” added Blanche; “since that’s the case you may go.” It seemed, indeed, that by audacity she might win this dangerous game on which her future peace depended. Chupin, greatly abashed, was standing before her undecided what course to pursue, when Aunt Medea, who was listening by the window, turned in affright, exclaiming, “Blanche! your husband--Martial! He is coming!” The game was lost. Blanche fancied her husband entering and finding Chupin there, conversing with him, and so discovering everything! Her brain whirled; she yielded. Hastily thrusting her purse into Chupin’s hand, she dragged him through an inner door to the servants’ staircase. “Take this,” she said, in a hoarse whisper. “I will see you again. And not a word--not a word to my husband, remember!”