One might have supposed that all this did not affect him in the least, he stood so cold and unmoved, with compressed lips and downcast eyes; but appearances were deceitful. His heart throbbed with wild exultation; and if he cast down his eyes, it was only to conceal the joy that sparkled there.
He had not hoped for so prompt and so terrible a revenge.
Nor was this all.
After brutally repulsing Blanche, his newly wedded wife, who attempted to detain him, Martial again seized Jean Lacheneur’s arm.
“Now,” said he, “follow me!”
Jean followed him still without a word.
They again crossed the grand hall, but instead of going to the vestibule Martial took a candle that was burning upon a side table, and opened a little door leading to the private staircase.
“Where are you taking me?” inquired Jean Lacheneur.
Martial, who had already ascended two or three steps, turned.
“Are you afraid?” he asked.