The priest’s intentions were excellent, no doubt, but in point of fact he was too hasty. At the very moment when Maurice stood sorely in need of wise and temperate counsel he was handed over to Jean Lacheneur’s pernicious influence. Scarcely were they outside the house, than the latter remarked: “We have to thank the Sairmeuses and the Marquis de Courtornieu for all this. I don’t even know where they have thrown my father’s corpse. I, his son, was even debarred from embracing him before he was traitorously murdered.” He spoke in a harsh, bitter voice, laughing the while in a strange discordant fashion. “And yet,” he continued, “if we climbed that hill we should be able to see the Chateau de Sairmeuse brightly illuminated. They are celebrating the marriage of Martial de Sairmeuse and Blanche de Courtornieu. We are friendless outcasts, succourless and shelterless, but they are feasting and making merry.” Less than this would have sufficed to rekindle Maurice’s wrath. Yes, these Sairmeuses and these Courtornieus had killed the elder Lacheneur, and they had betrayed the Baron d’Escorval, and delivered him up--a mangled corpse--to his suffering relatives. It would be a rightful vengeance to disturb their merrymaking now, and in the midst of hundreds of assembled guests denounce their cruelty and perfidy. “I will start at once,” exclaimed Maurice, “I will challenge Martial in the presence of the revellers.” But Jean interrupted him. “No, don’t do that! The cowards would arrest you. Write to the young marquis, and I will take your letter.” Corporal Bavois, who heard the conversation, did not make the slightest attempt to oppose this foolish enterprise. Indeed, he thought the undertaking quite natural, under the circumstances, and esteemed his young friends all the more for their rashness. They all three entered the first wine shop they came across, and Maurice wrote the challenge which was confided to Jean Lacheneur.