The young man with the laughing voice assisted Madame de Montrevel from the coach with the greatest care, then signed to one of his companions to give her an arm, and returned to the coach. But at that instant a double report was heard. Edouard had fired a pistol with each hand at the Companion of Jehu, who disappeared in the smoke. Madame de Montrevel screamed, and fainted away. Various cries, expressive of diverse sentiments, echoed that of the mother. From the interior came one of terror; they had all agreed to offer no resistance, and now some one had resisted. From the three young men came a cry of surprise--it was the first time such a thing had happened. They rushed to their companion, expecting to find him reduced to pulp; but they found him safe and sound, laughing heartily, while the conductor, with clasped hands, was exclaiming: “Monsieur, I swear there were no balls; monsieur, I protest, they were only charged with powder.” “The deuce,” said the young man, “don’t I see that? But the intention was good, wasn’t it, my little Edouard?” Then, turning to his companions, he added: “Confess, gentlemen, that he is a fine boy--a true son of his father, and brother of his brother. Bravo, Edouard! you’ll make a man some day!” Taking the boy in his arms, he kissed him, in spite of his struggles, on both cheeks. Edouard fought like a demon, thinking no doubt that it was very humiliating to be embraced by a man at whom he had just fired two pistols. In the meantime one of the Companions had carried Edouard’s mother to the bank by the roadside a little distance from the diligence. The man who had kissed Edouard with so much affection and persistence now looked around for her. “Ah!” cried he, on perceiving her, “Madame de Montrevel still unconscious? We can’t leave a woman in that condition, gentlemen. Conductor, take Master Edouard.” Placing the boy in Jérôme’s arms, he turned to one of his companions: “Man of precautions,” said he, “haven’t you smelling salts or a bottle of essence with you?” “Here!” said the young man he had addressed, pulling a flask of toilet vinegar from his pocket. “Good,” said the other, who seemed to be the leader of the band. “Do you finish up the matter with Master Jérôme; I’ll take charge of Madame de Montrevel.” It was indeed time. The fainting fit was giving place to a violent nervous attack; spasmodic movements shook her whole body and strangled cries came from her throat. The young man leaned over her and made her inhale the salts. Madame de Montrevel presently opened her frightened eyes, and called out: “Edouard! Edouard!” With an involuntary movement she knocked aside the mask of the man who was supporting her, exposing his face. The courteous, laughing young man--our readers have already recognized him--was Morgan.