“On one’s wedding-day, one must grant an audience to everybody,” said Martial.
And gay and smiling he descended the staircase.
In the vestibule, lined with rare and fragrant plants, stood a young man. He was very pale, and his eyes glittered with feverish brilliancy.
On recognizing him Martial could not restrain an exclamation of surprise.
“Jean Lacheneur!” he exclaimed; “imprudent man!”
The young man stepped forward.
“You believed that you were rid of me,” he said, bitterly. “Instead, I return from afar. You can have your people arrest me if you choose.”
Martial’s face crimsoned at the insult; but he retained his composure.
“What do you desire?” he asked, coldly.
Jean drew from his pocket a folded letter.