“I mean, sir, that early to-morrow morning a trusty messenger will start for Paris, charged with the task of submitting this document to the eyes of certain persons who are not exactly friends of yours. He will show it to Monsieur Laine, for example--or to the Duc de Richelieu; and he will, of course, explain to them its significance and its value. Will this writing prove the complicity of the Marquis de Sairmeuse? Yes, or no? Have you, or have you not, dared to try and to condemn to death the unfortunate men who were only the tools of your son?” “Ah, wretch! hussy! viper!” interrupted the duke. He was beside himself. A foam gathered upon his lips, his eyes seemed starting from their sockets; he was no longer conscious of what he was saying. “This,” he exclaimed, with wild gestures, “is enough to appall me! Yes, I have bitter enemies, envious rivals who would give their right hand for this execrable letter. Ah! 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 house-tops that Chanlouineau, in the presence of the tribunal, declared you, Marquis, his leader and his accomplice. You will be obliged to submit to the scrutiny of physicians, who, seeing a freshly healed wound, will require you to tell where you received it, and why you concealed it. “Of what shall I _not_ be accused? They will say that I expedited matters in order to silence the voice that had been raised against my son. Perhaps they will even say that I secretly favored the insurrection; I shall be vilified in the journals. “And who has thus ruined the fortunes of our house, that promised so brilliantly? You, you alone, Marquis. “You believe in nothing, you doubt everything--you are cold, sceptical, disdainful, _blase_. But a pretty woman makes her appearance on the scene. You go wild like a school-boy and are ready to commit any act of folly. It is you who I am addressing, Marquis. Do 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. Now he responded, slowly: “I think, sir, if Mademoiselle Lacheneur _had_ any doubts of the value of the document she possesses, she has them no longer.” This response fell upon the duke’s wrath like a bucket of ice-water. He instantly comprehended his folly; and frightened by his own words, he stood stupefied with astonishment. Without deigning to add another word, the marquis turned to Marie-Anne. “Will you be so kind as to explain what is required of my father in exchange for this letter?” “The life and liberty of Monsieur d’Escorval.” The duke started as if he had received an electric shock. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “I knew they would ask something that was impossible!” He sank back in his arm-chair. A profound despair succeeded his frenzy. He buried his face in his hands, evidently seeking some expedient.