This was said with such a conventional air of benevolence, and with such entire harmony of intonation and gesture that M. de Sairmeuse was perfectly bewildered. With a dazed air he watched the marquis and his daughter depart, and they had been gone some moments before he recovered himself sufficiently to exclaim: “The old hypocrite! does he believe me to be his dupe?” His dupe! M. de Sairmeuse was so far from being his dupe, that his next thought was: “What’s going to follow this farce? If he says he forgives us, that means that he has some crushing blow in store for us.” This idea soon ripening into conviction made his grace feel apprehensive, for he did not quite see how he would cope successfully with the perfidious marquis. “But Martial is a match for him!” he at last exclaimed. “Yes I must see Martial at once.”
So great was his anxiety that he lent a helping hand in harnessing the horses he had ordered, and when the vehicle was ready, he announced his determination to drive himself. As he urged the horses furiously onward, he tried to reflect, but the most contradictory ideas were seething in his brain and he lost all power of looking at the situation calmly. He burst into Martial’s room like a bombshell. “I certainly think you must have gone mad, marquis,” he exclaimed. “That is the only valid excuse you can offer.”
But Martial, who had been expecting the visit, had fully prepared himself for some such remark. “Never, on the contrary, have I felt more calm and composed in mind,” he replied, “than I am now. Allow me to ask you one question. Was it you who sent the gendarmes to the meeting which Maurice d’Escorval appointed?”
“Marquis!”
“Very well! Then it was another act of infamy to be scored against the Marquis de Courtornieu.”
The duke made no reply. In spite of all his faults and vices, this haughty nobleman retained those characteristics of the old French aristocracy—fidelity to his word and undoubted valour. He thought it perfectly natural, even necessary, that Martial should fight with Maurice; and he considered it a contemptible proceeding to send armed soldiers to seize an honest and confiding opponent.
“This is the second time,” resumed Martial, “that this scoundrel has tried to dishonour our name; and if I am to convince people of the truth of this assertion, I must break off all connection with him and his daughter. I have done so, and I don’t regret it, for I only married her out of deference to your wishes, and because it seemed necessary for me to marry, and because all women, excepting one, who can never be mine, are alike to me.”
Such utterances were scarcely calculated to re-assure the duke. “This sentiment is very noble, no doubt,” said he; “but it has none the less ruined the political prospects of our house.”
An almost imperceptible smile curved Martial’s lips. “I believe, on the contrary, I have saved them,” replied he. “It is useless for us to attempt to deceive ourselves; this affair of the insurrection has been abominable, and you ought to bless the opportunity this quarrel gives you to free yourself from all responsibility in it. You must go to Paris at once, and see the Duke de Richelieu—nay, the king himself, and with a little address, you can throw all the odium on the Marquis de Courtornieu, and retain for yourself only the prestige of the valuable services you have rendered.”
The duke’s face brightened. “Zounds, marquis!” he exclaimed; “that is a good idea! In the future I shall be infinitely less afraid of Courtornieu.”