Martial lifted his hand; everyone believed that he was about to strike the man who had been his father-in-law only a few hours.
“Very well! I comprehend!” he exclaimed. “I know now who that officer was who entered the room in which I had deposited the ropes—and I know what took him there.”
He crumbled the letter between his hands and threw it in M. de Courtornieu’s face, saying:
“Here is your reward—coward!”
Overwhelmed by this denouement the marquis sank into an arm-chair, and Martial, still holding Jean Lacheneur by the arm, was leaving the room, when his young wife, wild with despair, tried to detain him.
“You shall not go!” she exclaimed, intensely exasperated; “you shall not! Where are you going? To rejoin the sister of the man, whom I now recognize?”
Beside himself, Martial pushed his wife roughly aside.
“Wretch!” said he, “how dare you insult the noblest and purest of women? Ah, well—yes—I am going to find Marie-Anne. Farewell!”
And he passed on.