Martial glanced over it, laughed heartily, and exclaimed:

"A clever trick."

"What do you say?"

"I say that this Chanlouineau is a sly rascal. Who the devil would have thought the fellow so cunning to see his honest face? Another lesson to teach one not to trust to appearances."

In all his life the Duc de Sairmeuse had never received so severe a shock.

"Chanlouineau was not lying, then," he said to his son, in a choked, unnatural voice; "you _were_ one of the instigators of this rebellion, then?"

Martial's face grew dark, and in a tone of disdainful hauteur, he replied:

"This is the fourth time, sir, that you have addressed that question to me, and for the fourth time I answer: 'No.' That should suffice. If the fancy had seized me for taking part in this movement, I should frankly confess it. What possible reason could I have for concealing anything from you?"

"The facts!" interrupted the duke, in a frenzy of pa.s.sion; "the facts!"

"Very well," rejoined Martial, in his usual indifferent tone; "the fact is that the model of this circular does exist, that it was written in my best hand on a very large sheet of very poor paper. I recollect that in trying to find appropriate expressions I erased and rewrote several words. Did I date this writing? I think I did, but I could not swear to it."

"How do you reconcile this with your denials?" exclaimed M. de Sairmeuse.

"I can do this easily. Did I not tell you just now that Chanlouineau had made a tool of me?"

The duke no longer knew what to believe; but what exasperated him more than all else was his son's imperturbable tranquillity.

"Confess, rather, that you have been led into this filth by your mistress," he retorted, pointing to Marie-Anne.

But this insult Martial would not tolerate.

"Mademoiselle Lacheneur is not my mistress," he replied, in a tone so imperious that it was a menace. "It is true, however, that it rests only with her to decide whether she will be the Marquise de Sairmeuse tomorrow. Let us abandon these recriminations, they do not further the progress of our business."

The faint glimmer of reason which still lighted M. de Sairmeuse's mind, checked the still more insulting reply that rose to his lips. Trembling with suppressed rage, he made the circuit of the room several times, and finally paused before Marie-Anne, who remained in the same place, as motionless as a statue.

"Come, my good girl," said he, "give me the writing."

"It is not in my possession, sir."

"Where is it?"

"In the hands of a person who will give it to you only under certain conditions."

"Who is this person?"

"I am not at liberty to tell you."

There was both admiration and jealousy in the look that Martial fixed upon Marie-Anne.

He was amazed by her coolness and presence of mind. Ah! how powerful must be the pa.s.sion that imparted such a ringing clearness to her voice, such brilliancy to her eyes, such precision to her responses.

"And if I should not accept the--the conditions which are imposed, what then?" asked M. de Sairmeuse.

"In that case the writing will be utilized."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, sir, that early to-morrow morning a trusty messenger will start for Paris, charged with the task of submitting this doc.u.ment to the eyes of certain persons who are not exactly friends of yours. He will show it to Monsieur Laine, for example--or to the Duc de Richelieu; and he will, of course, explain to them its significance and its value. Will this writing prove the complicity of the Marquis de Sairmeuse? Yes, or no?

Have you, or have you not, dared to try and to condemn to death the unfortunate men who were only the tools of your son?"

"Ah, wretch! hussy! viper!" interrupted the duke. He was beside himself.

A foam gathered upon his lips, his eyes seemed starting from their sockets; he was no longer conscious of what he was saying.

"This," he exclaimed, with wild gestures, "is enough to appall me! Yes, I have bitter enemies, envious rivals who would give their right hand for this execrable letter. Ah! if they obtain it they will demand an investigation, and then farewell to the rewards due to my services.

"It will be shouted from the house-tops that Chanlouineau, in the presence of the tribunal, declared you, Marquis, his leader and his accomplice. You will be obliged to submit to the scrutiny of physicians, who, seeing a freshly healed wound, will require you to tell where you received it, and why you concealed it.

"Of what shall I _not_ be accused? They will say that I expedited matters in order to silence the voice that had been raised against my son. Perhaps they will even say that I secretly favored the insurrection; I shall be vilified in the journals.

"And who has thus ruined the fortunes of our house, that promised so brilliantly? You, you alone, Marquis.

"You believe in nothing, you doubt everything--you are cold, sceptical, disdainful, _blase_. But a pretty woman makes her appearance on the scene. You go wild like a school-boy and are ready to commit any act of folly. It is you who I am addressing, Marquis. Do you hear me? Speak!

what have you to say?"

Martial had listened to this tirade with unconcealed scorn, and without even attempting to interrupt it.

Now he responded, slowly:

"I think, sir, if Mademoiselle Lacheneur _had_ any doubts of the value of the doc.u.ment she possesses, she has them no longer."

This response fell upon the duke's wrath like a bucket of ice-water. He instantly comprehended his folly; and frightened by his own words, he stood stupefied with astonishment.

Without deigning to add another word, the marquis turned to Marie-Anne.

"Will you be so kind as to explain what is required of my father in exchange for this letter?"

"The life and liberty of Monsieur d'Escorval."

The duke started as if he had received an electric shock.

"Ah!" he exclaimed. "I knew they would ask something that was impossible!"

He sank back in his arm-chair. A profound despair succeeded his frenzy.

He buried his face in his hands, evidently seeking some expedient.

"Why did you not come to me before judgment was p.r.o.nounced?" he murmured. "Then I could have done anything--now, my hands are bound. The commission has spoken; the judgment must be executed----"

He rose, and in the tone of a man who is resigned to anything, he said:

"Decidedly. I should risk more in attempting to save the baron"--in his anxiety he gave M. d'Escorval his t.i.tle--"a thousand times more than I have to fear from my enemies. So, Mademoiselle"--he no longer said "my good girl"--"you can utilize your doc.u.ment."