“You have been fighting!” exclaimed the duke, in a husky voice.
“Yes.”
“Ah! then you were, indeed——”
“I was where? what?”
“At the convocation of these miserable peasants who, in their parricidal folly, have dared to dream of the overthrow of the best of princes!”
Martial’s face betrayed successively profound surprise, and a more violent desire to laugh.
“I think you must be jesting, Monsieur,” he replied.
The young man’s words and manner reassured the duke a little, without entirely dissipating his suspicions.
“Then, these vile rascals attacked you?” he exclaimed.
“Not at all. I have been simply obliged to fight a duel.”