“We paused.  The horse soon reached us; we caught the bridle and held him.  Can you guess who the rider was?  Martial de Sairmeuse.

“To describe your brother’s fury on recognizing the marquis would be impossible.

“‘At last I find you, wretched noble!’ he exclaimed, ’and now we will settle our account!  After reducing my father, who has just given you a fortune, to despair and penury, you have tried to degrade my sister.  I will have my revenge!  Down, we must fight!’”

Marie-Anne could scarcely tell whether she was awake or dreaming.

“My brother,” she murmured, “has challenged the marquis!  Is it possible?”

“Brave as Monsieur Martial is,” pursued Chanlouineau, “he did not seem inclined to accept the invitation.  He stammered out something like this:  ’You are mad—­you are jesting—­have we not always been friends?  What does this mean?’

“Jean ground his teeth in rage.  ’This means that we have endured your insulting familiarity long enough,’ he replied, ’and if you do not dismount and meet me in open combat, I will blow your brains out!’

“Your brother, as he spoke, manipulated his pistol in so threatening a manner that the marquis dismounted, and addressing me: 

“‘You see, Chanlouineau,’ he said, ’I must fight a duel or submit to assassination.  If Jean kills me there is no more to be said—­but if I kill him, what is to be done?’

“I told him he would be free to depart on condition he would give me his word not to return to Montaignac before two o’clock.

“‘Then I accept the challenge,’ said he; ‘give me a weapon.’

“I gave him my sword, your brother drew his, and they took their places in the middle of the highway.”

The young farmer paused to take breath, then said, more slowly: 

“Marie-Anne, your father and I have misjudged your brother.  Poor Jean’s appearance is terribly against him.  His face indicates a treacherous, cowardly nature, his smile is cunning, and his eyes always shun yours.  We have distrusted him, but we should ask his pardon.  A man who fights as I saw him fight, is deserving of confidence.  For this combat in the public road, and in the darkness of the night, was terrible.  They attacked each other silently but furiously.  At last Jean fell.”

“Ah! my brother is dead!” exclaimed Marie-Anne.

“No,” responded Chanlouineau; “at least we have reason to hope not; and I know he has not lacked any attention.  This duel had another witness, a man named Poignot, whom you must remember; he was one of your father’s tenants.  He took Jean, promising me that he would conceal him and care for him.

“As for the marquis, he showed me that he too was wounded, and then he remounted his horse, saying: 

“‘What could I do?  He would have it so.’”

Marie-Anne understood now.

“Give me the letter,” she said to Chanlouineau, “I will go to the duke.  I will find some way to reach him, and then God will tell me what course to pursue.”