She was sure that
her husband would not return; she did not expect him.
The Duc de Sairmeuse was searching the neighborhood with a party of
servants, but she knew that it was labor lost; that they would not
encounter Martial.
Where could he be? Near Marie-Anne most assuredly--and at the thought a
wild desire to wreak her vengeance on her rival took possession of her
heart.
Martial, at Montaignac, had ended by going to sleep.
Blanche, when daylight came, exchanged the snowy bridal robes for a
black dress, and wandered about the garden like a restless spirit.
She spent most of the day shut up in her room, refusing to allow the
duke, or even her father, to enter.
In the evening, about eight o'clock, they received tidings from Martial.
A servant brought two letters; one, sent by Martial to his father, the
other, to his wife.
For a moment or more Blanche hesitated to open the one intended for her.
It would determine her destiny; she was afraid; she broke the seal and
read:
"Madame la marquise--Between you and me all is ended; reconciliation is
impossible.
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