Martial, too, had turned so white that Mlle. Blanche remarked his pallor and thought he was ill.
In fact, a terrible struggle was going on in the soul of the young marquis; a conflict between his honor and passion.
Had he not longed only a few hours before to find some way of driving Maurice from the country?
Ah, well! the opportunity he so ardently desired now presented itself. It was impossible to imagine a better one. If the proposed step was taken the Baron d’Escorval and his family would be forced to leave France forever!
The company hesitated; Martial saw it, and felt that a single word from him, for or against, would decide the matter.
After a few minutes of frightful uncertainty, honor triumphed.
He rose and declared that the proposed measure was bad—impolitic.
“Monsieur d’Escorval,” he remarked, “is one of those men who diffuse around them a perfume of honesty and justice. Have the good sense to respect the consideration which is justly his.”
As he had foreseen, his words decided the matter. The cold and haughty manner which he knew so well how to assume, his few but incisive words, produced a great effect.
“It would evidently be a great mistake!” was the general cry.