"Nonsense," burst out the young English officer. "They are rightfully yours. They were taken from you by an usurper who——"
"Monsieur!" cried Marteau sharply.
"Well, sir?"
"He who cannot be named by order of the king is not to be slandered by order of——"
"Whose order?"
"Mine," said Marteau.
"Indeed," answered the Englishman, his face flushing as he laid his hand on his sword—he was wearing his uniform.
"Steady, steady," cried the old Baronet, interposing between the two. "The lad's right. If we can't name Bonaparte, it is only fair that we shouldn't abuse him. And the girl's right, too. You have no need of any such dowry. Thank God I have got acres and pounds of my own for the two of you and all that may come after."
"It strikes me, gentlemen," said the Marquis coolly, "that the disposal of the affair is mine. Marteau is right and I was wrong. Perhaps he has some claim to the estate. But, however that may be, he does well to surrender it to its ancient overlord. I accept it as my due. I shall see that he does not suffer for his generosity."
"And does monsieur think that he could compensate me if he should give me the whole of France for the loss of——"