Martial’s coolness drove Maurice frantic. “Well,” he replied, with extreme violence, “my hatred is unabated even if my scorn is diminished. I have waited for this occasion ever since the day we met on the square at Sairmeuse in Mademoiselle Lacheneur’s presence. You said to me then, ‘We shall meet again.’ And now here we stand face to face. What insults must I heap upon you to decide you to fight?” With a threatening gesture Martial seized one of the swords which Bavois offered him, and assumed an attitude of defence. “You will have it so,” said he in a husky voice. “The thought of Marie-Anne can no longer save you.” But the blades had scarcely crossed before a cry from Jean arrested the combat. “The soldiers!” he exclaimed; “we are betrayed.” A dozen gendarmes were indeed approaching at full speed. “Ah! I spoke the truth!” exclaimed Maurice. “The coward came, but the guards accompanied him.” He bounded back, and breaking his sword over his knee, hurled the fragments in Martial’s face. “Here, miserable wretch!” he cried. “Wretch!” repeated Jean and Corporal Bavois, “traitor! coward!” And then they fled, leaving Martial literally thunderstruck. He struggled hard to regain his composure. The soldiers were swiftly approaching; he ran to meet them, and addressing the officer in command, imperiously enquired, “Do you know who I am?” “Yes,” replied the brigadier, respectfully, “you are the Duke de Sairmeuse’s son.” “Very well! I forbid you to follow those men.” The brigadier hesitated at first; then, in a decided tone he replied: “I can’t obey you, sir. I have my orders.” And turning to his men, he added, “Forward!” He was about to set the example, when Martial seized him by the arm: “At least you will not refuse to tell me who sent you here?” “Who sent us? The colonel, of course, in obedience to orders from the grand provost, M. d’Courtornieu. He sent the order last night. We have been hidden near here ever since daybreak. But thunder! let go your hold, I must be off.” He galloped away, and Martial, staggering like a drunken man, descended the slope, and remounted his horse. But instead of repairing to the Chateau of Sairmeuse, he returned to Montaignac, and passed the remainder of the afternoon in the solitude of his own room. That evening he sent two letters to Sairmeuse--one to his father, and the other to his wife. XXVII.