ed, as he crossed the threshold, "I must
confess that Chupin is an admirable hunter. Thanks to him----"

He paused abruptly; he had not perceived Marie-Anne until now.

"The daughter of that scoundrel Lacheneur!" said he, with an air of the
utmost surprise. "What does she desire here?"

The decisive moment had come--the life of the baron hung upon
Marie-Anne's courage and address. The consciousness of the terrible
responsibility devolving upon her restored her self-control and calmness
as if by magic.

"I have a revelation to sell to you, Monsieur," she said, resolutely.

The duke regarded her with mingled wonder and curiosity; then, laughing
heartily, he threw himself upon a sofa, exclaiming:

"Sell it, my pretty one--sell it!"

"I cannot speak until I am alone with you."

At a sign from his father, Martial left the room.

"You can speak now," said the duke.

She did not lose a second.

"You must have read, Monsieur," she began, "the circular convening the
conspirators."

"Certainly; I have a dozen copies in my pocket."

"By whom do you suppose it was written?"

"By the elder d'Escorval, or by your father."

"You are mistaken, Monsieur; that letter was the work of the Marquis de
Sairmeuse, your son."

The duke sprang up, fire flashing from his eyes, his face purple with
anger.

"Zounds! girl! I advise you to bridle your tongue!"

"The proof of what I have asserted exists."

"Silence, you hussy, or----"

"The lady who sends me here, Monsieur, possesses the original of this
circular written by the hand of Monsieur Martial, and I am obliged to
tell you----"

She did not have an opportunity to complete the sentence. The duke
sprang to the door, and, in a voice of thunder, called his son.

As soon as Martial entered the room:

"Repeat," said the duke--"repeat before my son what you have just said
to me."

Boldly, with head erect, and clear, firm voice, Marie-Anne repeated her
accusation.

She expected, on the part of the marquis, an indignant denial, cruel
reproaches, or an angry explanation. Not a word. He listened with a
nonchalant air, and she almost believed she could read in his eyes an
encouragement to proceed, and a promise of protection.

When she had concluded:

"Well!" demanded the duke, imperiously.

"First," replied Martial, lightly, "I would like to see this famous
circular."

The duke handed him a copy.

"Here--read it."

Martial glanced over it, laughed heartily, and