desirous of seeing Maurice, be at the Reche to-morrow
at mid-day. He will be there."

Having said this, he turned abruptly aside, sprang over the fence
skirting the avenue, and disappeared in the darkness.

"Jean," cried Martial, in almost supplicating tones; "Jean, come
back--listen to me!"

No response.

A sort of bewilderment had seized the young marquis, and he stood
motionless and dazed in the middle of the road.

A horse and rider on their way to Montaignac, that nearly ran over him,
aroused him from his stupor, and the consciousness of his acts, which he
had lost while reading the letter from Maurice, came back to him.

Now he could judge of his conduct calmly.

Was it indeed he, Martial, the phlegmatic sceptic, the man who boasted
of his indifference and his insensibility, who had thus forgotten all
self-control?

Alas, yes. And when Blanche de Courtornieu, now and henceforth the
Marquise de Sairmeuse, accused Marie-Anne of being the cause of his
frenzy, she had not been entirely wrong.

Martial, who regarded the opinion of the entire world with disdain,
was rendered frantic by the thought that Marie-Anne despised him, and
considered him a traitor and a coward.

It was for her sake, that in his outburst of rage, he resolved upon
such a startling justification. And if he besought Jean to lead him to
Maurice d'Escorval, it was because he hoped to find Marie-Anne not far
off, and to say to her:

"Appearances were against me, but I am innocent; and I have proved it by
unmasking the real culprit."

It was to Marie-Anne that he wished this famous letter to be given,
thinking that she, at least, could not fail to be surprised at his
generosity.

His expectations had been disappointed; and now he realized what a
terrible scandal he had created.

"It will be the devil to arrange!" he explained; "but nonsense! it will
be forgotten in a month. The best way will be to face those gossips at
once: I will return immediately."

He said: "I will return," in the most deliberate manner; but in
proportion as he neared the chateau, his courage failed him.

The guests must have departed ere this, and Martial concluded that he
would probably find himself alone with his young wife, his father, and
the Marquis de Courtornieu. What reproaches, tears, anger and threats he
would be obliged to encounter.

"No," he muttered. "I am not such a fool! Let them have a night to calm
themselves. I will not appear until to-mor