“Ah, you little wretch, you hussy, you little viper!” interrupted the duke in a passionate rage. “You want to drive me mad! Yes, you know that I have enemies and rivals who would gladly give anything for this execrable letter. And if they obtain it they will demand an investigation, and then farewell to the rewards due to my services. It will be shouted from the housetops that Chanlouineau, in the presence of the tribunal, declared that you, marquis, were his leader and his accomplice. You will be obliged to submit to the scrutiny of physicians, who, finding a freshly-healed wound, will require you to state how and where you received it, and why you concealed it. And then, of course, I shall be accused! It will be said I expedited matters in order to silence the voices raised against my son. Perhaps my enemies will even say that I secretly favoured the insurrection. I shall be vilified in the newspapers. And remember that it is you, you alone, marquis, who have ruined the fortunes of our house, our brilliant prospects, in this foolish fashion. You pretend to believe in nothing, to doubt everything--you are cold, sceptical, disdainful. But only let a pretty woman make her appearance on the scene, and you grow as wild as a school-boy, and you are ready to commit any act of folly. It is you that I am speaking to, marquis. Don’t you hear me? Speak! what have you to say?” Martial had listened to this tirade with unconcealed scorn, and without even attempting to interrupt it. But now he slowly replied, “I think, sir, that if Mademoiselle Lacheneur _had_ any doubts of the value of the document she possesses, she certainly can have them no longer.” This answer fell upon the duke’s wrath like a bucket of iced water. He instantly realised his folly; and frightened by his own words, stood literally stupefied with astonishment. Without deigning to speak any further to his father, the marquis turned to Marie-Anne. “Will you be kind enough to explain what is required in exchange for this letter?” he said. “The life and liberty of M. d’Escorval.” The duke started as if he had received an electric shock. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “I knew they would ask for something that was impossible!” He sank back into an arm chair; and his despair now seemed as deep as his frenzy had been violent. He hid his face in his hands, evidently seeking for some expedient. “Why didn’t you come to me before judgment was pronounced?” he murmured. “Then, I could of done anything--now, my hands are bound. The commission has spoken, and the sentence must be executed--” He rose, and added in the tone of a man who is utterly resigned: “Decidedly, I should risk more in attempting to save the baron”--in his anxiety he gave M. d’Escorval his title--”a thousand times more than I have to fear from my enemies. So, mademoiselle”--he no longer said, “my good girl”--”you can utilize your document.”