ie-Anne's son, Maurice--your son. I
have given him all the proofs necessary to establish his identity.
It was to his education that I consecrated the heritage of my poor
Marie-Anne.

"Those to whose care I confided him have made a noble man of him. If I
restore him to you, it is only because the life I lead is not a fitting
life for him. Yesterday, the miserable woman who murdered my sister died
from poison administered by her own hand. Poor Marie-Anne! she would
have been far more terribly avenged had not an accident which happened
to me, saved the Duc and the Duchesse de Sairmeuse from the snare into
which I had drawn them.

"Jean Lacheneur."

Lecoq stood as if petrified.

Now he understood the terrible drama which had been enacted in the Widow
Chupin's cabin.

"I must go to Sairmeuse at once," he said to himself; "there I can
discover all."

He departed without seeing M. d'Escorval. He resisted the temptation to
take the letter with him.

It was exactly one month to a day after the death of Mme. Blanche.

Reclining upon a divan in his library the Duc de Sairmeuse was engaged
in reading, when Otto, his _valet de chambre_, came to inform him that a
messenger was below, charged with delivering into the duke's own hands a
letter from M. Maurice d'Escorval.

With a bound, Martial was on his feet.

"Is it possible?" he exclaimed.

Then he added, quickly:

"Let the messenger enter."

A large man, with a very florid complexion, and red hair and beard,
timidly handed the duke a letter, he broke the seal, and read:

"I saved you, Monsieur, by not recognizing the prisoner, May. In your
turn, aid me! By noon, day after to-morrow, I must have two hundred and
sixty thousand francs.

"I have sufficient confidence in your honor to apply to you.

"Maurice d'Escorval."

For a moment Martial stood bewildered, then, springing to a table, he
began writing, without noticing that the messenger was looking over his
shoulder:

"Monsieur--Not day after to-morrow, but this evening. My fortune and my
life are at your disposal. It is but a slight return for the generosity
you showed in retiring, when, beneath the rags of May, you recognized
your former enemy, now your devoted friend,

"Martial de Sairmeuse."

He folded this letter with a feverish hand, and giving it to the
messenger with a louis, he said:

"Here is the answer, make haste!"

But the messenger did not go.

He slipped the letter into his p