While awaiting Martial in the vestibule of the chateau, he armed himself against the scorn and sneers which he would probably receive from this haughty nobleman whom he had come to insult.
But Martial’s kindly greeting had disconcerted him a little.
But he was reassured when he saw the terrible effect produced upon the marquis by the insulting letter.
“We have cut him to the quick,” he thought.
When Martial seized him by the arm and led him upstairs, he made no resistance.
While they traversed the brightly lighted drawing-rooms and passed through the crowd of astonished guests, Jean thought neither of his heavy shoes nor of his peasant dress.
Breathless with anxiety, he wondered what was to come.
He soon knew.
Leaning against the gilded door-post, he witnessed the terrible scene in the little salon.
He saw Martial de Sairmeuse, frantic with passion, cast into the face of his father-in-law Maurice d’Escorval’s letter.