He tried; but it was not until early morning that he fell into a feverish slumber.

He awoke about nine o’clock, ordered breakfast, concluded to return to Sairmeuse, and he was eating with a good appetite, when suddenly: 

“Have a horse saddled instantly!” he exclaimed.

He had just remembered the rendezvous with Maurice.  Why should he not go there?

He set out at once, and thanks to a spirited horse, he reached the Reche at half-past eleven o’clock.

The others had not yet arrived; he fastened his horse to a tree near by, and leisurely climbed to the summit of the hill.

This spot had been the site of Lacheneur’s house.  The four walls remained standing, blackened by fire.

Martial was contemplating the ruins, not without deep emotion, when he heard a sharp crackling in the underbrush.

He turned; Maurice, Jean, and Corporal Bavois were approaching.

The old soldier carried under his arm a long and narrow package, enveloped in a piece of green serge.  It contained the swords which Jean Lacheneur had gone to Montaignac during the night to procure from a retired officer.

“We are sorry to have kept you waiting,” began Maurice, “but you will observe that it is not yet midday.  Since we scarcely expected to see you——­”

“I was too anxious to justify myself not to be here early,” interrupted Martial.

Maurice shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.

“It is not a question of self-justification, but of fighting,” he said, in a tone rude even to insolence.

Insulting as were the words and the gesture that accompanied them, Martial never so much as winced.

“Sorrow has rendered you unjust,” said he, gently, “or Monsieur Lacheneur here has told you nothing.”

“Jean has told me all.”

“Well, then?”

Martial’s coolness drove Maurice frantic.

“Well,” he replied, with extreme violence, “my hatred is unabated even if my scorn is diminished.  You have owed me an opportunity to avenge myself, Monsieur, ever since the day we met on the square at Sairmeuse in the presence of Mademoiselle Lacheneur.  You said to me on that occasion:  ‘We shall meet again.’  Here we stand now face to face.  What insults must I heap upon you to decide you to fight?”

A flood of crimson dyed Martial’s face.  He seized one of the swords which Bavois offered him, and assumed an attitude of defence.

“You will have it so,” said he in a husky voice.  “The thought of Marie-Anne can no longer save you.”

But the blades had scarcely crossed before a cry from Jean and from Corporal Bavois arrested the combat.

“The soldiers!” they exclaimed; “let us fly!”

A dozen soldiers were indeed approaching at the top of their speed.

“Ah!  I spoke the truth!” exclaimed Maurice.  “The coward came, but the gendarmes accompanied him.”