On recognizing him Martial could not restrain an exclamation of surprise.

“Jean Lacheneur!” he exclaimed; “imprudent man!”

The young man stepped forward.

“You believed that you were rid of me,” he said, bitterly.  “Instead, I return from afar.  You can have your people arrest me if you choose.”

Martial’s face crimsoned at the insult; but he retained his composure.

“What do you desire?” he asked, coldly.

Jean drew from his pocket a folded letter.

“I am to give you this on behalf of Maurice d’Escorval.”

With an eager hand, Martial broke the seal.  He glanced over the letter, turned as pale as death, staggered and said only one word.

“Infamous!”

“What must I say to Maurice?” insisted Jean.  “What do you intend to do?”

With a terrible effort Martial had conquered his weakness.  He seemed to deliberate for ten seconds, then seizing Jean’s arm, he dragged him up the staircase, saying: 

“Come—­you shall see.”

Martial’s countenance had changed so much during the three minutes he had been absent that there was an exclamation of terror when he reappeared, holding an open letter in one hand and leading with the other a young peasant whom no one recognized.

“Where is my father?” he demanded, in a husky voice; “where is the Marquis de Courtornieu?”

The duke and the marquis were with Mme. Blanche in the little salon at the end of the main hall.

Martial hastened there, followed by a crowd of wondering guests, who, foreseeing a stormy scene, were determined not to lose a syllable.

He walked directly to M. de Courtornieu, who was standing by the fireplace, and handing him the letter: 

“Read!” said he, in a terrible voice.

M. de Courtornieu obeyed.  He became livid; the paper trembled in his hands; his eyes fell, and he was obliged to lean against the marble mantel for support.

“I do not understand,” he stammered:  “no, I do not understand.”

The duke and Mme. Blanche both sprang forward.

“What is it?” they asked in a breath; “what has happened?”

With a rapid movement, Martial tore the paper from the hands of the Marquis de Courtornieu, and addressing his father: 

“Listen to this letter,” he said, imperiously.

Three hundred people were assembled there, but the silence was so profound that the voice of the young marquis penetrated to the farthest extremity of the hall as he read: 

“Monsieur le marquis—­In exchange for a dozen lines that threatened you with ruin, you promised us, upon the honor of your name, the life of Baron d’Escorval.

“You did, indeed, bring the ropes by which he was to make his escape, but they had been previously cut, and my father was precipitated to the rocks below.

“You have forfeited your honor, Monsieur.  You have soiled your name with ineffaceable opprobrium.  While so much as a drop of blood remains in my veins, I will leave no means untried to punish you for your cowardice and vile treason.