Martial's face turned crimson, and he looked searchingly at his father.

"I suppose, Monsieur, that you do not mean one word of what you are
saying," Martial said, coldly. "We pledged ourselves, upon the honor of
our name, to save Baron d'Escorval. If he has been killed it will be a
great misfortune to us, Monsieur, a great misfortune."

When his son addressed him in his haughty and freezing tone the duke
never knew how to reply. He was indignant, but his son's was the
stronger nature.

"Nonsense!" exclaimed M. de Courtornieu; "if the rascal had merely been
wounded we should have known it."

Such was the opinion of Chupin, who had been sent for by the duke, and
who had just made his appearance.

But the old scoundrel, who was usually so loquacious and so officious,
replied briefly; and, strange to say, did not offer his services.

Of his imperturbable assurance, of his wonted impudence, of his
obsequious and cunning smile, absolutely nothing remained.

His restless eyes, the contraction of his features, his gloomy manner,
and the occasional shudder which he could not repress, all betrayed his
secret perturbation.

So marked was the change that even the Duc de Sairmeuse observed it.

"What calamity has happened to you, Master Chupin?" he inquired.

"This has happened," he responded, sullenly: "when I was coming here
the children of the town threw mud and stones at me, and ran after me,
shouting: 'Traitor! traitor!'"

He clinched his fists; he seemed to be meditating vengeance, and he
added:

"The people of Montaignac are pleased. They know that the baron has
escaped, and they are rejoicing."

Alas! this joy was destined to be of short duration, for this was the
day appointed for the execution of the conspirators.

It was Wednesday.

At noon the gates of the citadel were closed, and the gloom was
profound and universal, when the heavy rolling of drums announced the
preparations for the frightful holocaust.

Consternation and fear spread through the town; the silence of death
made itself felt on every side; the streets were deserted, and the doors
and shutters of every house were closed.

At last, as three o'clock sounded, the gates of the fortress were opened
to give passage to fourteen doomed men, each accompanied by a priest.

Fourteen! for seized by remorse or fright at the last moment, M de
Courtornieu and the Duc de Sairmeuse had granted a reprieve to six of
the prisoners and at that very hour