Blanche saw her husband entering, finding Chupin,
conversing with him, and discovering all!
Her brain whirled; she yielded.
She hastily thrust her purse in Chupin's hand and dragged him through an
inner door and to the servants' staircase.
"Take this," she said, in a hoarse whisper. "I will see you again. And
not a word--not a word to my husband, remember!"
She had been wise to yield in time. When she re-entered the salon, she
found Martial there.
His head was bowed upon his breast; he held an open letter in his hand.
He looked up when his wife entered the room, and she saw a tear in his
eye.
"What has happened?" she faltered.
Martial did not remark her emotion.
"My father is dead, Blanche," he replied.
"The Duc de Sairmeuse! My God! how did it happen?"
"He was thrown from his horse, in the forest, near the Sanguille rocks."
"Ah! it was there where my poor father was nearly murdered."
"Yes, it is the very place."
There was a moment's silence.
Martial's affection for his father had not been very deep, and he
was well aware that his father had but little love for him.
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