“Very well, I will give it to Maurice,” he responded, coldly.
“It should be a bond of alliance, it seems to me,” said Martial, gently.
Jean Lacheneur made a gesture terrible in its irony and menace.
“A bond of alliance!” he exclaimed. “You are too fast, Monsieur le Marquis! Have you forgotten all the blood that flows between us? You did not cut the ropes; but who condemned the innocent Baron d’Escorval to death? Was it not the Duc de Sairmeuse? An alliance! You have forgotten that you and yours sent my father to the scaffold! How have you rewarded the man whose heroic honesty gave you back a fortune? By murdering him, and by ruining the reputation of his daughter.”
“I offered my name and my fortune to your sister.”
“I would have killed her with my own hand had she accepted your offer. Let this prove to you that I do not forget. If any great disgrace ever tarnishes the proud name of Sairmeuse, think of Jean Lacheneur. My hand will be in it.”
He was so frantic with passion that he forgot his usual caution. By a violent effort he recovered his self-possession, and in calmer tones he added:
“And if you are so desirous of seeing Maurice, be at the Reche to-morrow at mid-day. He will be there.”
Having said this, he turned abruptly aside, sprang over the fence skirting the avenue, and disappeared in the darkness.
“Jean,” cried Martial, in almost supplicating tones; “Jean, come back—listen to me!”