She paused before him, and with arms folded tightly across her breast, she said, angrily: 

“Why did you remain here while I was left alone to endure such humiliation?  Ah! had I been a man!  All our guests have fled, Monsieur—­all!”

M. de Sairmeuse sprang up.

“Ah, well! what if they have?  Let them go to the devil!”

Of the guests that had just left his house there was not one whom the duke really regretted—­not one whom he regarded as an equal.  In giving a marriage-feast for his son, he had bidden all the gentry of the neighborhood.  They had come—­very well!  They had fled—­bon voyage!

If the duke cared at all for their desertion, it was only because it presaged with terrible eloquence the disgrace that was to come.

Still he tried to deceive himself.

“They will return, Madame; you will see them return, humble and repentant!  But where can Martial be?”

The lady’s eyes flashed, but she made no reply.

“Did he go away with the son of that rascal, Lacheneur?”

“I believe so.”

“It will not be long before he returns——­”

“Who can say?”

M. de Sairmeuse struck the marble mantel heavily with his clinched fist.

“My God!” he exclaimed; “this is an overwhelming misfortune.”

The young wife believed that he was anxious and angry on her account.  But she was mistaken.  He was thinking only of his disappointed ambition.

Whatever he might pretend, the duke secretly confessed his son’s superiority and his genius for intrigue, and he was now extremely anxious to consult him.

“He has wrought this evil; it is for him to repair it!  And he is capable of it if he chooses,” he murmured.

Then, aloud, he resumed: 

“Martial must be found—­he must be found——­”

With an angry gesture, Blanche interrupted him.

“You must seek Marie-Anne if you wish to find—­my husband.”

The duke was of the same opinion, but he dared not avow it.

“Anger leads you astray, Marquise,” said he.

“I know what I know.”

“Martial will soon make his appearance, believe me.  If he went away, he will soon return.  They shall go for him at once, or I will go for him myself——­”

He left the room with a muttered oath, and Blanche approached her father, who still seemed to be unconscious.

She seized his arm and shook it roughly, saying, in the most peremptory tone: 

“Father! father!”

This voice, which had so often made the Marquis de Courtornieu tremble, was far more efficacious than eau de cologne.  He opened one eye the least bit in the world, then quickly closed it; but not so quickly that his daughter failed to discover it.

“I wish to speak with you,” she said; “get up.”

He dared not disobey, and slowly and with difficulty, he raised himself.