“The daughter of that scoundrel Lacheneur!” said he, with an air of the utmost surprise. “What does she desire here?”
The decisive moment had come—the life of the baron hung upon Marie-Anne’s courage and address. The consciousness of the terrible responsibility devolving upon her restored her self-control and calmness as if by magic.
“I have a revelation to sell to you, Monsieur,” she said, resolutely.
The duke regarded her with mingled wonder and curiosity; then, laughing heartily, he threw himself upon a sofa, exclaiming:
“Sell it, my pretty one—sell it!”
“I cannot speak until I am alone with you.”
At a sign from his father, Martial left the room.
“You can speak now,” said the duke.
She did not lose a second.
“You must have read, Monsieur,” she began, “the circular convening the conspirators.”