"Villains who murder innocent women can also lie," retorted Jean in scorn. "This lady, I tell you, after undergoing endless outrage at their hands, which is noted above in detail, has been cruelly poisoned by the two half-brothers of her husband. Providence, in its inscrutable wisdom, has chosen me as the humble instrument of rescue--and also of revenge. As there are stars above us, those wretches shall be terribly punished. I go now to execute their sentence." The habit of leading others had made another man of Jean. He spoke simply, but with a stern native dignity that enforced respect. The ladies looked with awe on his tall retreating figure, about which there were none of the petty airs of courtliness, and never for a moment doubted that he spoke the truth. This poor, pitiful, dishevelled heap of soiled clothing was not infectious. The Marquise de Gange had been singled out as victim of an appalling tragedy, which, had it been consummated, would have set the whole province aflame with fury. What was he about to do, this formidable deputy? Pray Heaven he would not raise such a tornado about their ears as would bring ruin on an entire class. Given that many of the class had sinned grievously and often, that was no reason for confounding the guiltless with the guilty. The peasantry were so crassly ignorant and so oafishly benighted--so ready in these days to believe the worst--that they might choose to look on old De Vaux as an accomplice of the Lorge people, and wreak vengeance on him and his. It had not been his business to interfere in the private affairs of other persons, and had, moreover, been deliberately misinformed. His wife, as she turned it all over, grew very much alarmed and gave vent to shrillest jeremiads. What a stroke of ill-luck it was that the baron should have chosen this especial morning to sally forth on a fool's errand, leaving his family to be fooled by fickle Fortune! The baroness felt convinced that there was something dreadful imminent, and there was not a single male upon the premises. Even the tottering old domestics had gone forth to act as _piqueurs_. If the gentlemen would only return and settle what was to be done; but if they met with success in sport they would not be back till nightfall. Meanwhile, it was evident that the orders of the obnoxious Jean must be obeyed, and that the ladies must succour the marquise. Hark! What was that? Voices in altercation in the passage, and a screaming of terror-stricken maids. Hatless, with dress disordered and wild mien, Pharamond and Phebus dashed into the room. "Where is our darling Gabrielle?" the former cried in agitation, undisguised. "Poor soul! Poor suffering angel! She has gone mad; escaped raging through a window, distraught by the delirium of fever."