He picked up the pistol from the bed upon which she had thrown it and pointing it upward pulled the trigger. Startled by his utterly unexpected action, the meaning of which she could not fathom, she did scream loudly. The next instant the door was thrown open and into the room half clad, sword in hand, burst the Marquis. With him were Sir Gervaise Yeovil and the young Captain, and attending them were servants and guards bearing lights.
The Marquis stared from his niece back to the young officer.
"My God!" he exclaimed. "Is it you?"
Marteau could only bow. He had a few seconds to make up his mind, a few seconds to decide upon the role he must play. Well, his life was certainly forfeit, his reputation he would also give for hers. Any explanation that he could make would be disbelieved unless, of course, he produced the Eagle, which was not to be thought of. Failing the Eagle the more he endeavored to account for his presence the more deeply would he involve the woman he loved.
"I find you here, you that I treated almost like a gentleman, who, I thought, nearly measured up to the title, in my niece's room at this hour of the morning," continued the enraged old man. "Laure, has he—has he harmed you?"
"You came too quickly, monsieur," answered Marteau, himself, giving the young woman time to recover herself. "You heard the pistol shot." He threw the weapon from him. "We were struggling. It went off and——"
"You damned low-born coward," gritted out the English officer, stepping toward him furious with anger.
"Steady, Frank. There is something strange about this," said Sir Gervaise gloomily, catching his son by the arm. "He is no coward. That I'll warrant."
"But to seek entry into a woman's bed-chamber!" continued Frank furiously. "If you were a gentleman I'd——"
"That 'almost,'" said Marteau, "saves me in this instance."