household that the countess had indicated positive symptoms of
pregnancy; that hardly had she arrived in Paris when she suffered
from fainting fits, nausea, retching, that she bore with joy these
premonitory indications, which were no longer a matter of doubt to
the physicians, nor to anyone; that for his part he was overwhelmed
with joy at this event, which was the crowning stroke to all his
wishes; that he desired the chateau to share his satisfaction by
indulging in all kinds of gaieties; and that so far as other matters
were concerned they could remain as they were till the return of
himself and the countess, which the letter would precede only a few
days, as he was going to transport her in a litter for greater
safety.  Then followed the specification of certain sums of money to
be distributed among the servants.

The servants uttered cries of joy; the marquis and marchioness
exchanged a look, but a very troublous one; they, however, restrained
themselves so far as to simulate a great satisfaction, and the
marquis brought himself to congratulate the servants on their
attachment to their master and mistress.  After this they were left
alone, looking very serious, while crackers exploded and violins
resounded under the windows.  For some time they preserved silence,
the first thought which occurred to both being that the count and
countess had allowed themselves to be deceived by trifling symptoms,
that people had wished to flatter their hopes, that it was impossible
for a constitution to change so suddenly after twenty years, and that
it was a case of simulative pregnancy.  This opinion gaining strength
in their minds made them somewhat calmer.

The next day they took a walk side by side in a solitary path in the
park and discussed the chances of their situation.  M. de
Saint-Maixent brought before the marchioness the enormous injury
which this event would bring them.  He then said that even supposing
the news to be true, there were many rocks ahead to be weathered
before the succession could be pronounced secure.

"The child may die," he said at last.

And he uttered some sinister expressions on the slight damage caused
by the loss of a puny creature without mind, interest, or
consequence; nothing, he said, but a bit of ill-organised matter,
which only came into the world to ruin so considerable a person as
the marchioness.

"But what is the use of tormenting ourselves?" he went on
impatiently; "the countess is not pregnant, nor can she be."

A gardener working near them overheard this part of the conversation,
but as they walked away from him he could not hear any more.

A few days later, some outriders, sent before him by the count,
entered the chateau, saying that their master and mistress were close
at hand.  In fact, they were promptly followed by brakes and
travelling-carriages, and at length the countess's litter was
descried, which M. de Saint-Geran, on horse back, had never lost
sight of during the journey.  It was a triumphal reception: all the
peasants had left their work, and filled the air with shouts of
welcome; the servants ran to meet their mistress; the ancient
retainers wept for joy at seeing the count so happy and in the hope
that his noble qualities might be perpetuated in his heir.  The
marquis and Madame de Bouille did their best to tune up to the pitch
of this hilarity.

The dowager countess, who had arrived at the chateau the same day,
unable to convince herself as to this news, had the pleasure of
satisfying her self respecting it.  The count and countess were much
beloved in the Bourbonnais province; this event caused therein a
general satisfaction, particularly in the numerous houses attached to
them by consanguinity.  Within a few days of their return, more than
twenty ladies of quality flocked to visit them in great haste, to
show the great interest they took in this pregnancy.  All these
ladies, on one occasion or another, convinced themselves as to its
genuineness, and many of them, carrying the subject still further, in
a joking manner which pleased the countess, dubbed themselves
prophetesses, and predicted the birth of a boy.  The usual symptoms
incidental to the situation left no room for doubt: the country
physicians were all agreed. The count kept one of these physicians in
the chateau for two months, and spoke to the Marquis of Saint-
Maixent of his intention of procuring a good mid-wife, on the same
terms.  Finally, the dowager countess, who was to be sponsor, ordered
at a great expense a magnificent store of baby linen, which she
desired to present at the birth.

The marchioness devoured her rage, and among the persons who went
beside themselves with joy not one remarked the disappointment which
overspread her soul.  Every day she saw the marquis, who did all he
could to increase her regret, and incessantly stirred up her
ill-humour by repeating that the count and countess were triumphing
over her misfortune, and insinuating that they were importing a
supposititious child to disinherit her.  As usual both in private and
political affairs, he began by corrupting the marchioness's religious
views, to pervert her into crime.  The marquis was one of those
libertines so rare at that time, a period less unhappy than is
generally believed, who made science dependent upon, atheism.  It is
remarkable that great criminals of this epoch, Sainte-Croix for
instance, and Exili, the gloomy poisoner, were the first unbelievers,
and that they preceded the learned of the following age both, in
philosophy and in the exclusive study of physical science, in which
they included that of poisons.  Passion, interest, hatred fought the
marquis's battles in the heart of Madame de Bouille; she readily lent
herself to everything that M. de Saint-Maixent wished.

The Marquis de Saint-Maixent had a confidential servant, cunning,
insolent, resourceful, whom he had brought from his estates, a
servant well suited to such a master, whom he sent on errands
frequently into the neighbourhood of Saint-Geran.

One evening, as the marquis was about to go to bed, this man,
returning from one of his expeditions, entered his room, where he
remained for a long time, telling him that he had at length found
what he wanted, and giving him a small piece of paper which contained
several names of places and persons.

Next morning, at daybreak, the marquis caused two of his horses to be
saddled, pretended that he was summoned home on pressing business,
foresaw that he should be absent for three or four days, made his
excuses to the count, and set off at full gallop, followed by his
servant.

They slept that night at an inn on the road to Auvergne, to put off
the scent any persons who might recognise them; then, following
cross-country roads, they arrived after two days at a large hamlet,
which they had seemed to have passed far to their left.

In this hamlet was a woman who practised the avocation of midwife,
and was known as such in the neighbourhood, but who had, it was said,
mysterious and infamous secrets for those who paid her well.
Further, she drew a good income from the influence which her art gave
her over credulous people.  It was all in her line to cure the king's
evil, compound philtres and love potions; she was useful in a variety
of ways to girls who could afford to pay her; she was a lovers'
go-between, and even practised sorcery for country folk.  She played
her cards so well, that the only persons privy to her misdeeds were
unfortunate creatures who had as strong an interest as herself in
keeping them profoundly secret; and as her terms were very high, she
lived comfortably enough in a house her own property, and entirely
alone, for greater security.  In a general way, she was considered
skilful in her ostensible profession, and was held in estimation by
many persons of rank.  This woman's name was Louise Goillard.

Alone one evening after curfew, she heard a loud knocking at the door
of her house.  Accustomed to receive visits at all hours, she took
her lamp without hesitation, and opened the door.  An armed man,
apparently much agitated, entered the room.  Louise Goillard, in a
great fright, fell into a chair; this man was the Marquis de
Saint-Maixent.

"Calm yourself, good woman," said the stranger, panting and
stammering; "be calm, I beg; for it is I, not you, who have any cause
for emotion.  I am not a brigand, and far from your having anything
to fear, it is I, on the contrary, who am come to beg for your
assistance."

He threw his cloak into a corner, unbuckled his waistbelt, and laid
aside his sword.  Then falling into a chair, he said--

"First of all, let me rest a little."

The marquis wore a travelling-dress; but although he had not stated
his name, Louise Goillard saw at a glance that he was a very
different person from what she had thought, and that, on the
contrary, he was some fine gentleman who had come on his love
affairs.

"I beg you to excuse," said she, "a fear which is insulting to you.
You came in so hurriedly that I had not time to see whom I was
talking to.  My house is rather lonely; I am alone; ill-disposed
people might easily take advantage of these circumstances to plunder
a poor woman who has little enough to lose.  The times are so bad!
You seem tired.  Will you inhale some essence?"

"Give me only a glass of water."

Louise Goillard went into the adjoining room, and returned with an
ewer.  The marquis affected to rinse his lips, and said--

"I come from a great distance on a most important matter.  Be assured
that I shall be properly grateful for your services."

He felt in his pocket, and pulled out a purse, which he rolled
between his fingers.

"In the first place; you must swear to the greatest secrecy."

"There is no need of that with us," said Louise Goillard; "that is
the first condition of our craft."

"I must have more express guarantees, and your oath that you will
reveal to no one in the world what I am going to confide to you."

"I give you my word, then, since you demand it; but I repeat that
this is superfluous; you do not know me."

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