His expectations had been disappointed; and now he realized what a terrible scandal he had created.
“It will be the devil to arrange!” he explained; “but nonsense! it will be forgotten in a month. The best way will be to face those gossips at once: I will return immediately.”
He said: “I will return,” in the most deliberate manner; but in proportion as he neared the chateau, his courage failed him.
The guests must have departed ere this, and Martial concluded that he would probably find himself alone with his young wife, his father, and the Marquis de Courtornieu. What reproaches, tears, anger and threats he would be obliged to encounter.
“No,” he muttered. “I am not such a fool! Let them have a night to calm themselves. I will not appear until to-morrow.”
But where should he pass the night? He was in evening dress and bareheaded; he began to feel cold. The house belonging to the duke in Montaignac would afford him a refuge.
“I shall find a bed, some servants, a fire, and a change of clothing there—and to-morrow, a horse to return.”
It was quite a distance to walk; but in his present mood this did not displease him.
The servant who came to open the door when he rapped, was speechless with astonishment on recognizing him.
“You, Monsieur!” he exclaimed.