The duke sprang to his feet, his face purple with anger. “Zounds! girl! I advise you to bridle your tongue!” cried he.
“There is proof of what I assert; and the lady who sends me here,” interrupted Marie-Anne, quite unabashed, “has the original of this circular in safe keeping. It is in the handwriting of Monsieur le Marquis, and I am obliged to tell you—”
She did not have time to complete her sentence, for the duke sprang to the door, and, in a voice of thunder, called his son. As soon as Martial entered the room his grace turned to Marie-Anne, “Now, repeat,” said he, “repeat before my son what you have just said to me.”
Boldly, with head erect, and in a clear, firm voice, Marie-Anne repeated her charge. She expected an indignant denial, a stinging taunt, or, at least, an angry interruption from the marquis; but he listened with a nonchalant air, and she almost believed she could read in his eyes an encouragement to proceed, coupled with a promise of protection.
“Well! what do you say to that?” imperiously asked the duke, when Marie-Anne had finished.
“First of all,” replied Martial, lightly, “I should like to see this famous circular.”
The duke handed him a copy. “Here—read it,” said he.
Martial glanced over the paper, laughed heartily, and exclaimed: “A clever trick.”
“What do you say?”
“I say that this Chanlouineau is a sly rascal. Who the devil would have thought the fellow so cunning to see his honest face. Another lesson to teach one not to trust in appearances.”