regiment was in a mutinous temper over the Eagle
episode, that they looked upon Marteau as a martyr, and that there
might be outbreaks and grave difficulties before he was shot. Well,
difficulties did not daunt the stout-hearted, inflexible old noble. He
rather enjoyed them. He rather welcomed this occasion, too, because he
intended to be master now, and, having once mastered the regiment, he
felt he would have no difficulty in controlling it in any future
emergency.

To him, as he sat in his cabinet maturing his plans for the morrow,
came a message from his niece, asking admittance. The privilege was,
of course, instantly granted, and Laure d'Aumenier presently entered
the room.

"Have you come, my child," began the old man, regarding her tenderly,
for in the few years she had been with him he had learned to estimate
the worth of her character and love her as she deserved, "to explain
this mystery, to tell me why you declare that the presence of a man in
the room of a woman of my house at three o'clock in the morning is
innocent? I repeat," he went on reassuringly, "that I cannot conceive
of or admit any wrong on your part, and that makes the situation more
impossible of explanation."

"My uncle," answered the Countess, "I can only say that Monsieur Jean
Marteau is not guilty, as he seems."

"And I can quite believe that," said the old Marquis. "Indeed, our
English friend, who for all his bluntness is not without discrimination
and good sense, has said as much to me. He declared with great
emphasis that there was something in it all which he could not
understand."

"And you--what did you say?"

"I asked him if that was meant for any reflection on the honor of my
family, for if it were I should accord him the pleasure of crossing
swords with me and in the end run him through."

"And he said----"

"He disclaimed absolutely the idea. He is as convinced of your
sweetness, your innocence and purity, as I am."

"And Captain Yeovil?"

"He lacks his father's insight and finesse. He is young. He takes
matters as he sees them, and fancies Marteau the common, vulgar thief
he appeared."

"Impossible!" cried the Countess. "He is----"

"No doubt he is not especially prepossessed in favor of Monsieur
Marteau, who has presumed to love you, and perhaps that accounts for
his willingness to believe anything derogatory of him."

"He is blind, and I----"

"But you are not declining his hand on that account!"