They hastily descended the staircase, passed through the gardens, and soon reached the long avenue. Then Jean Lacheneur suddenly paused. “After all,” said he, “it was scarcely necessary for me to wait so long for a simple yes or no. Have you decided? What answer am I to give Maurice d’Escorval?” “None at all! You will take me to him. I must see him and speak with him in order to justify myself. Let us proceed!” But Jean did not move. “What you ask is impossible!” he replied. “Why so?” “Because Maurice is pursued. If he is captured, he will be tried and undoubtedly condemned to death. He is now in a safe retreat, and I have no right to disclose it.” In point of fact, Maurice’s safe retreat, for the time being, was only a neighbouring wood, where, in the corporal’s company, he was waiting for Jean’s return. But the latter could not resist the temptation to make this insinuating remark, which by reason of its covert character, was far more insulting than if he had simply said: “We fear informers!” Strange as it may appear, and proud and violent as was Martial’s nature, he did not resent the insult. “So you distrust me!” he merely said. Jean Lacheneur was silent--another insult. “And yet,” insisted Martial, “after what you’ve just seen and heard you can’t possibly suspect me of having cut the ropes I carried to the baron.” “No! I’m convinced that _you_ didn’t do it.” “You saw how I punished the man who had dared to compromise my honour. And this man is the father of the girl I married to-day.” “Oh, I saw and heard everything, but as for taking you to Maurice, I must still reply: ‘Impossible.’” No doubt the younger Lacheneur’s severity was unjust; however, Martial did not rebel against it. He merely drew from his pocket the paper which he had taken from his desk a few minutes previously, and handed it to Jean. “You doubt my word,” he said grimly. “I shall not forget to punish those whose fault it is. However, here is a proof of my sincerity which I expect you to give to Maurice, and which must convince even you.” “What proof is it?” “Why, the very letter in exchange for which we facilitated the baron’s escape. A presentiment I can’t explain prevented me from burning it, and now I’m very glad I didn’t. Take it, and do what you choose with it.” Any one but Jean Lacheneur would have appreciated the young marquis’s candour, and have been touched by the confidence he displayed. But Jean’s hatred was implacable, and the more humble his enemy showed himself, the more determined he was to carry out the project of vengeance maturing in his brain. His only reply to Martial’s last remark was a promise to give the letter to Maurice. “It should be a bond of alliance, it seems to me,” said Martial, gently.