“The business can be terminated at once, for the justice of the peace is at liberty to-day, and he can go with us to break the seals this afternoon.” So, before evening, all the legal requirements were complied with, and Marie-Anne was formally installed at the Borderie. She was alone in Chanlouineau’s house--alone! Night came on and a great terror seized her heart. It seemed to her that the doors were about to open, that this man who had loved her so much would appear before her, and that she would hear his voice as she heard it for the last time in his grim prison-cell. She fought against these foolish fears, lit a lamp, and went through this house--now hers--in which everything spoke so forcibly of its former owner. Slowly she examined the different rooms on the lower floor, noting the recent repairs which had been made and the conveniences which had been added, and at last she ascended to that room above which Chanlouineau had made the tabernacle of his passion. Here, everything was magnificent, far more so than his words had led her to suppose. The poor peasant who made his breakfast off a crust and a bit of onion had lavished a small fortune on the decorations of this apartment, designed as a sanctuary for his idol. “How he loved me!” murmured Marie-Anne, moved by that emotion, the bare thought of which had awakened the jealousy of Maurice. But she had neither the time nor the right to yield to her feelings. Father Poignot was doubtless, even then, awaiting her at the rendezvous. She lifted the hearth-stone, and found the sum of money which Chanlouineau had named. The next morning, when he awoke, the abbe received the money. Now, Marie-Anne could breathe freely; and this peace, after so many trials and agitations, seemed to her almost happiness. Faithful to the abbe’s instructions, she lived alone; but, by frequent visits, she accustomed the people of the neighborhood to her presence. Yes, she would have been almost happy, could she have had news of Maurice. What had become of him? Why did he give no sign of life? What would she not have given in exchange for some word of counsel and of love from him? The time was fast approaching when she would require a confidant; and there was no one in whom she could confide. In this hour of extremity, when she really felt that her reason was failing her, she remembered the old physician at Vigano, who had been one of the witnesses to her marriage. “He would help me if I called upon him for aid,” she thought. She had no time to temporize or to reflect; she wrote to him immediately, giving the letter in charge of a youth in the neighborhood. “The gentleman says you may rely upon him,” said the messenger on his return. That very evening Marie-Anne heard someone rap at her door. It was the kind-hearted old man who had come to her relief. He remained at the Borderie nearly a fortnight.