This was said in the most provoking manner, and yet Martial never so much as frowned.  He had sworn that he would remain calm, and he had strength enough to keep his word.

“If these relations—­as God forbid—­have been broken off,” he replied, “believe me, Monsieur d’Escorval, it is no fault of ours.”

“Then it is not as people say?”

“What people?  Who?”

“The people here in the neighborhood.”

“Ah!  And what do these people say?”

“The truth.  That you have been guilty of an offence which a man of honor could never forgive nor forget.”

The young marquis shook his head gravely.

“You are quick to condemn, sir,” he said, coldly.  “Permit me to hope that Monsieur Lacheneur will be less severe than yourself; and that his resentment—­just, I confess, will vanish before”—­he hesitated—­“before a truthful explanation.”

Such an expression from the lips of this haughty young aristocrat!  Was it possible?

Martial profited by the effect he had produced to advance toward Marie-Anne, and, addressing himself exclusively to her, seemed after that to ignore the presence of Maurice completely.

“For there has been a mistake—­a misunderstanding, Mademoiselle,” he continued.  “Do not doubt it.  The Sairmeuse are not ingrates.  How could anyone have supposed that we would intentionally give offense to a—­devoted friend of our family, and that at a moment when he had rendered us a most signal service!  A true gentleman like my father, and a hero of probity like yours, cannot fail to esteem each other.  I admit that in the scene of yesterday, Monsieur de Sairmeuse did not appear to advantage; but the step he takes today proves his sincere regret.”

Certainly this was not the cavalier tone which he had employed in addressing Marie-Anne, for the first time, on the square in front of the church.

He had removed his hat, he remained half inclined before her, and he spoke in a tone of profound respect, as though it were a haughty duchess, and not the humble daughter of that “rascal” Lacheneur whom he was addressing.

Was it only a roue’s manoeuvre?  Or had he also involuntarily submitted to the power of this beautiful girl?  It was both; and it would have been difficult for him to say where the voluntary ended, and where the involuntary began.

He continued: 

“My father is an old man who has suffered cruelly.  Exile is hard to bear.  But if sorrows and deceptions have embittered his character, they have not changed his heart.  His apparent imperiousness and arrogance conceal a kindness of heart which I have often seen degenerate into positive weakness.  And—­why should I not confess it?—­the Duc de Sairmeuse, with his white hair, still retains the illusions of a child.  He refuses to believe that the world has progressed during the past twenty years.  Moreover, people had deceived him by the most absurd fabrications.  To speak plainly, even while we were in Montaignac, Monsieur Lacheneur’s enemies succeeded in prejudicing my father against him.”