A flood of crimson dyed Martial’s face. He 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 and from Corporal Bavois arrested the combat. “The soldiers!” they exclaimed; “let us fly!” A dozen soldiers were indeed approaching at the top of their speed. “Ah! I spoke the truth!” exclaimed Maurice. “The coward came, but the gendarmes accompanied him.” He bounded back, and breaking his sword over his knee, he hurled the fragments in Martial’s face, saying: “Here, miserable wretch!” “Wretch!” repeated Jean and Corporal Bavois, “traitor! coward!” And they fled, leaving Martial thunderstruck. He struggled hard to regain his composure. The soldiers were very near; he ran to meet them, and addressing the officer in command, he said, imperiously: “Do you know who I am?” “Yes,” replied the sergeant, respectfully, “you are the son of the Duc de Sairmeuse.” “Very well! I forbid you to follow those men.” The sergeant hesitated at first; then, in a decided tone, he replied: “I cannot obey you, sir. I have my orders.” And addressing his men: “Forward!” he exclaimed. 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 prevot_, Monsieur de Courtornieu. He sent the order last night. We have been hidden in that grove since daybreak. But release me--_tonnerre_! would you have my expedition fail entirely?” He hurried away, and Martial, staggering like a drunken man, descended the slope, and remounted his horse. But he did not repair to the Chateau de 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, the other to his wife. CHAPTER XXXIX Terrible as Martial imagined the scandal to be which he had created, his conception of it by no means equalled the reality. Had a thunder-bolt burst beneath that roof, the guests at Sairmeuse could not have been more amazed and horrified. A shudder passed over the assembly when Martial, terrible in his passion, flung the crumbled letter full in the face of the Marquis de Courtornieu. And when the marquis sank half-fainting into an arm-chair some young ladies of extreme sensibility could not repress a cry of fear. For twenty seconds after Martial disappeared with Jean Lacheneur, the guests stood as motionless as statues, pale, mute, stupefied. It was Blanche who broke the spell. While the Marquis de Courtornieu was panting for breath--while the Duc de Sairmeuse was trembling and speechless with suppressed anger, the young marquise made an heroic attempt to come to the rescue.