Without warning her, he went to beg Abbe Midon to follow him to the Reche, to the house of M. Lacheneur. The silence, on his part, explains Mme. d’Escorval’s astonishment when, on the arrival of the dinner-hour, neither her son nor her husband appeared. Maurice was sometimes late; but the baron, like all great workers, was punctuality itself. What extraordinary thing could have happened? Her surprise became uneasiness when she learned that her husband had departed in company with Abbe Midon. They had harnessed the horse themselves, and instead of driving through the court-yard as usual, they had driven through the stable-yard into a lane leading to the public road. What did all this mean? Why these strange precautions? Mme. d’Escorval waited, oppressed by vague forebodings. The servants shared her anxiety. The baron was so equable in temper, so kind and just to his inferiors, that his servants adored him, and would have gone through a fiery furnace for him. So, about ten o’clock, they hastened to lead to their mistress a peasant who was returning from Sairmeuse. This man, who was slightly intoxicated, told the strangest and most incredible stories. He said that all the peasantry for ten leagues around were under arms, and that the Baron d’Escorval was the leader of the revolt. He did not doubt the final success of the movement, declaring that Napoleon II., Marie-Louise, and all the marshals of the Empire were concealed in Montaignac. Alas! it must be confessed that Lacheneur had not hesitated to utter the grossest falsehoods in his anxiety to gain followers. Mme. d’Escorval could not be deceived by these ridiculous stories, but she could believe, and she did believe that the baron was the prime mover in this insurrection. And this belief, which would have carried consternation to the hearts of so many women, reassured her. She had entire, absolute, and unlimited faith in her husband. She believed him superior to all other men--infallible, in short. The moment he said: “This is so!” she believed it implicitly. Hence, if her husband had organized a movement that movement was right. If he had attempted it, it was because he expected to succeed. Therefore, it was sure to succeed. Impatient, however, to know the result, she sent the gardener to Sairmeuse with orders to obtain information without awakening suspicion, if possible, and to hasten back as soon as he could learn anything of a positive nature. He returned in about two hours, pale, frightened, and in tears. The disaster had already become known, and had been related to him with the most terrible exaggerations. He had been told that hundreds of men had been killed, and that a whole army was scouring the country, massacring defenceless peasants and their families. While he was telling his story, Mme. d’Escorval felt that she was going mad.