A week sufficed the marquis to settle his affairs. At the end of that time he prepared to return to Blanche, to whom he carried presents of every kind, which were carefully packed in the travelling carriage. Chaudoreille, who was continually on the watch about the hotel, saw these preparations for departure, and ran to tell Julia. "Enough," said the young Italian, "I have long been prepared for this, and I have bought two good horses. You shall come with me." "To the end of the world; I am devoted to you." "I do not think that we shall have to go very far, we shall have nothing to do but follow the marquis' carriage." "I understand you." "You can ride a horse?" "Perfectly; however, I prefer donkeys, they don't trot so fast." "Idiot! can one hope to follow a post-chaise on an ass? Make all your preparations." "They are made. I have my wardrobe upon me; as to my purse, yesterday evening I had some cursed ill-luck while you relieved me at the hotel. I didn't remain in the gambling-house longer than between five and ten minutes, and I had well calculated my play; well, I can say with Francis the First, I have lost everything but honor." While Chaudoreille rattled on, Julia donned a large cloak, and took all the money which remained to her. Then she sent the Gascon to his post, while she went to get the horses. Towards seven o'clock in the evening the marquis got into his carriage with Germain and started for the Chateau de Sarcus, not for one moment thinking that Julia and Chaudoreille were following his carriage from afar. Leaving the travellers to make their way we will return to poor Urbain, who, for a long time past, had languished on his bed, kept there by illness and grief. He was heartbroken at being without strength to go in search of his dear Blanche, and the good girl who gave him every care, incessantly repeated to him,-- "The more you disquiet yourself, the longer you retard your cure." Someone had told him that a great nobleman was Blanche's abductor, and he was in despair at not having been able to keep his appointment with this man, who would have told him his rival's name. But at last he felt better and could go out, and the first use which he made of his returning strength was to go to the barber's house. It was closed on every side, the shutters had not been taken down from the shop, although the hours of labor had long since begun; Urbain knocked, but no one opened to him. "It is useless for you to knock," said a neighbor to him, "the house is empty and is for sale. You must inquire at the agent's, Rue des Mauvaises-Paroles." "And the barber?" "The barber has left it, I tell you, there's nobody there." "And Marguerite?" "She died a week ago." "Marguerite is dead--is it possible?" "Why, what is there so extraordinary in that? The poor woman wasn't young." "Where can I find M. Touquet now?" "I can't give you any information. That man was a bear, and he spoke to nobody."