“I know what I am saying.”

Fearing that some spy outside would overhear him, he came close to Marie-Anne and said, rapidly, and in a low voice: 

“I never believed in the success of this conspiracy.  When I sought for a weapon of defence in case of failure, the Marquis de Sairmeuse furnished it.  When it became necessary to send a circular warning our accomplices of the date decided upon for the uprising, I persuaded Monsieur Martial to write a model.  He suspected nothing.  I told him it was for a wedding; he did what I asked.  This letter, which is now in my possession, is the rough draft of the circular; and it was written by the hand of the Marquis de Sairmeuse.  It is impossible for him to deny it.  There is an erasure on each line.  Everyone would regard it as the handiwork of a man who was seeking to convey his real meaning in ambiguous phrases.”

Chanlouineau opened the envelope and showed her the famous letter which he had dictated, and in which the space for the date of the insurrection was left blank.

“My dear friend, we are at last agreed, and the marriage is decided, etc.”

The light that had sparkled in Marie-Anne’s eye was suddenly extinguished.

“And you believe that this letter can be of any service?” she inquired, in evident discouragement.

“I do not believe it!”

“But——­”

With a gesture, he interrupted her.

“We must not lose time in discussion—­listen to me.  Of itself, this letter might be unimportant, but I have arranged matters in such a way that it will produce a powerful effect.  I declared before the commission that the Marquis de Sairmeuse was one of the leaders of the movement.  They laughed; and I read incredulity on the faces of the judges.  But calumny is never without its effect.  When the Duc de Sairmeuse is about to receive a reward for his services, there will be enemies in plenty to remember and to repeat my words.  He knew this so well that he was greatly agitated, even while his colleagues sneered at my accusation.”

“To accuse a man falsely is a great crime,” murmured the honest Marie-Anne.

“Yes, but I wish to save my friend, and I cannot choose my means.  I was all the more sure of success as I knew that the marquis had been wounded.  I declared that he was fighting against the troops by my side; I demanded that he should be summoned before the tribunal; I told them that I had in my possession unquestionable proofs of his complicity.”

“Did you say that the Marquis de Sairmeuse had been wounded?” inquired Marie-Anne.

Chanlouineau’s face betrayed the most intense astonishment.

“What!” he exclaimed, “you do not know——­”

Then after an instant’s reflection: 

“Fool that I am!” he resumed.  “Who could have told you what had happened?  You remember that when we were travelling over the Sairmeuse road on our way to the Croix d’Arcy, and after your father had left us to ride on in advance, Maurice placed himself at the head of one division, and you walked beside him, while your brother Jean and myself stayed behind to urge on the laggards.  We were performing our duty conscientiously when suddenly we heard the gallop of a horse behind us.  ‘We must know who is coming,’ Jean said to me.