ill not permit it.' Do you know what the
fellow desired? Simply to give Mademoiselle Lacheneur a letter of mine,
so compromising in its natures that if it ever reaches the hands of a
certain person of my acquaintance, my father and I will be obliged
to reside in London in future. Then farewell to the projects for an
alliance between our two families!"

The new-comer heaved a mighty sigh, accompanied by a half-angry,
half-sorrowful exclamation; but the other, without giving him any
opportunity to reply, resumed:

"You, yourself, Marquis, would doubtless be compromised. Were you not a
chamberlain during the reign of Bonaparte? Ah, Marquis! how could a man
of your experience, a man so subtle, and penetrating, and acute, allow
himself to be duped by a low, ignorant peasant?"

Now M. d'Escorval understood. He was not dreaming; it was the Marquis de
Courtornieu and Martial de Sairmeuse who were talking on the other side
of the wall.

This poor M. de Courtornieu had been so entirely crushed by Martial's
revelation that he no longer made any effort to oppose him.

"And this terrible letter?" he groaned.

"Marie-Anne Lacheneur gave it to Abbe Midon, who came to me and said:
'Either the baron will escape, or this letter will be taken to the Duc
de Richelieu.' I voted for the baron's escape, I assure you. The abbe
procured all that was necessary; he met me at a rendezvous which I
appointed in a quiet spot; he coiled all his rope about my body, and
here I am."

"Then you think if the baron escapes they will give you back your
letter?"

"Most assuredly."

"Deluded man! As soon as the baron is safe, they will demand the life of
another prisoner, with the same menaces."

"By no means."

"You will see."

"I shall see nothing of the kind, for a very simple reason. I have the
letter now in my pocket. The abbe gave it to me in exchange for my word
of honor."

M. de Courtornieu's exclamation proved that he considered the abbe an
egregious fool.

"What!" he exclaimed. "You hold the proof, and--But this is madness!
Burn this accursed letter by the flames of this lantern, and let the
baron go where his slumbers will be undisturbed."

Martial's silence betrayed something like stupor.

"What! you would do this--you?" he demanded, at last.

"Certainly--and without the slightest hesitation."

"Ah, well! I cannot say that I congratulate you."

The sneer was so apparent that M. de Courtornieu was sorely tempted
to make an