He was not wrong.  The scoundrels were plotting “a rich haul.”

Mme. Blanche, who had dressed herself with such care, that to render her disguise perfect she had encased her feet in large, coarse shoes that were almost killing her—­Mme. Blanche had forgotten to remove her superb diamond ear-rings.

She had forgotten them, but Lacheneur’s accomplices had noticed them, and were now regarding them with eyes that glittered more brilliantly than the diamonds themselves.

While awaiting Lacheneur’s coming, these wretches, as had been agreed upon, were playing the part which he had imposed upon them.  For this, and their assistance afterward, they were to receive a certain sum of money.

But they were thinking that this sum was not, perhaps, a quarter part of the value of these jewels, and they exchanged glances that said: 

“Ah! if we could only get them and make our escape before Lacheneur comes!”

The temptation was too strong to be resisted.

One of them rose suddenly, and, seizing the duchess by the back of the neck, he forced her head down upon the table.

The diamonds would have been torn from the ears of Mme. Blanche had it not been for Camille, who bravely came to the aid of her mistress.

Martial could endure no more.  He sprang to the door of the hovel, opened it, and entered, bolting it behind him.

“Martial!”

“Monsieur le Duc!”

These cries escaping the lips of Mme. Blanche and Camille in the same breath, changed the momentary stupor of their assailants into fury; and they both precipitated themselves upon Martial, determined to kill him.

With a spring to one side, Martial avoided them.  He had his revolver in his hand; he fired twice and the wretches fell.  But he was not yet safe, for the young soldier threw himself upon him, and attempted to disarm him.

Through all the furious struggle, Martial did not cease crying, in a panting voice: 

“Fly!  Blanche, fly!  Otto is not far off.  The name—­save the honor of the name!”

The two women obeyed, making their escape through the back door, which opened upon the garden; and they had scarcely done so, before a violent knocking was heard at the front door.

The police were coming!  This increased Martial’s frenzy; and with one supreme effort to free himself from his assailant, he gave him such a violent push that his adversary fell, striking his head against the corner of the table, after which he lay like one dead.

But the Widow Chupin, who had come downstairs on hearing the uproar, was shrieking upon the stairs.  At the door someone was crying:  “Open in the name of the law!”

Martial might have fled; but if he fled, the duchess might be captured, for he would certainly be pursued.  He saw the peril at a glance, and his decision was made.

He shook the Widow Chupin violently by the arm, and said, in an imperious voice: