He walked directly to M. de Courtornieu, who was standing by the fireplace, and handing him the letter:
“Read!” said he, in a terrible voice.
M. de Courtornieu obeyed. He became livid; the paper trembled in his hands; his eyes fell, and he was obliged to lean against the marble mantel for support.
“I do not understand,” he stammered: “no, I do not understand.”
The duke and Mme. Blanche both sprang forward.
“What is it?” they asked in a breath; “what has happened?”
With a rapid movement, Martial tore the paper from the hands of the Marquis de Courtornieu, and addressing his father:
“Listen to this letter,” he said, imperiously.
Three hundred people were assembled there, but the silence was so profound that the voice of the young marquis penetrated to the farthest extremity of the hall as he read:
“Monsieur le marquis—In exchange for a dozen lines that threatened you with ruin, you promised us, upon the honor of your name, the life of Baron d’Escorval.