“The slightest emotion might kill your father,” he declared; “and to tell your mother of your return, and of the dangers to which you have foolishly exposed yourself, would cause her untold tortures. Go at once. Cross the frontier again this very night.” Jean Lacheneur, who had witnessed this scene, now approached. “It is time for me to depart,” said he, “and I entreat you to care for my sister, the place for her is here, not upon the highways.” The abbe deliberated for a moment, then he said, brusquely: “So be it; but go at once; your name is not upon the proscribed list. You will not be pursued.” Thus, suddenly separated from his wife, Maurice wished to confer with her, to give her some parting advice; but the abbe did not allow him an opportunity. “Go, go at once,” he insisted. “Farewell!” The good abbe was too hasty. Just when Maurice stood sorely in need of wise counsel, he was thus delivered over to the influence of Jean Lacheneur’s furious hatred. As soon as they were outside: “This,” exclaimed Jean, “is the work of the Sairmeuse and the Marquis de Courtornieu! I do not even know where they have thrown the body of my murdered parent; you cannot even embrace the father who has been traitorously assassinated by them!” He laughed a harsh, discordant, terrible laugh, and continued: “And yet, if we ascended that hill, we could see the Chateau de Sairmeuse in the distance, brightly illuminated. They are celebrating the marriage of Martial de Sairmeuse and Blanche de Courtornieu. _We_ are homeless wanderers without friends, and without a shelter for our heads: _they_ are feasting and making merry.” Less than this would have sufficed to rekindle the wrath of Maurice. He forgot everything in saying to himself that to disturb this fete by his appearance would be a vengeance worthy of him. “I will go and challenge Martial now, on the instant, in the presence of the revellers,” he exclaimed. But Jean interrupted him. “No, not that! They are cowards; they would arrest you. Write; I will be the bearer of the letter.” Corporal Bavois heard them; but he did not oppose their folly. He thought it all perfectly natural, under the circumstances, and esteemed them the more for their rashness. Forgetful of prudence they entered the first shop, and the challenge was written and confided to Jean Lacheneur. CHAPTER XXXVIII To disturb the merrymaking at the Chateau de Sairmeuse; to change the joy of the bridal-day into sadness; to cast a gloom over the nuptials of Martial and Mlle. Blanche de Courtornieu. This, in truth, was all that Jean Lacheneur hoped to do. As for believing that Martial, triumphant and happy, would accept the challenge of Maurice, a miserable outlaw, he did not believe it. While awaiting Martial in the vestibule of the chateau, he armed himself against the scorn and sneers which he would probably receive from this haughty nobleman whom he had come to insult.