his visits to the Chateau.  As soon as he had heard that Norbert’s marriage had been so soon followed by his father’s death, he imagined that every cloud had disappeared from the sky.  All danger now seemed at an end, and he recalled with glee that he had in his strong box the promissory notes, signed by Norbert, to the amount of twenty thousand francs, which he could demand at any moment, now that Norbert was the reigning lord of Champdoce.  The first step he took was to hang about the neighborhood of Laurebourg, for he thought that some lucky chance would surely favor him with an opportunity for a little conversation with Mademoiselle Diana.  For several days in succession he was unsuccessful, but at last he was delighted at seeing her alone, walking in the direction of Bevron.  Without her suspecting it, he followed her until the road passed through a small plantation, when he came up and addressed her.

“What do you want with me?” asked she angrily.

He made no direct reply; but after apologizing for his boldness, he began to offer his congratulations upon her approaching marriage, which was now the talk of the whole neighborhood, and which pleased him much, as M. de Mussidan was in every way superior to—­

“Is that all you have to say to me?” asked Diana, interrupting his string of words.

As she turned from him, he had the audacity to lay his hand upon the edge of her jacket.

“I have more to say,” said he, “if you will honor me with your attention.  Something about—­you can guess what.”

“About whom or what?” asked she, making no effort to hide her supreme contempt.

He smiled, glanced around to see that no one was within hearing, and then said in a low voice,—­

“It is about the bottle of poison.”

She recoiled, as though some venomous reptile had started up in front of her.

“What do you mean?” cried she.  “How dare you speak to me thus?”

All his servile manner had now returned to him, and he uttered a string of complaints in a whining tone of voice.  She had played him a most unfair trick, and had stolen a certain little glass bottle from his office; and if anything had leaked out, his head would have paid the penalty of a crime in which he had no hand.  He was quite ill, owing to the suspense and anxiety he had endured; sleep would not come to his bed, and the pangs of remorse tortured him continually.

“Enough,” cried Diana, stamping her foot angrily on the ground.  “Enough, I say.”

“Well, mademoiselle, I can no longer remain here.  I am far too nervous, and I wish to go to some foreign country.”

“Come, let me hear the real meaning of this long preface.”

Thus adjured, Daumon spoke.  He only wished for some little memento to cheer his days and nights of exile, some little recognition of his services; in fact, such a sum as would bring him in an income of three thousand francs.