Such utterances were not at all calculated to reassure the duke.
“This sentiment is very noble, no doubt,” said he; “but it has none the less ruined the political prospects of our house.”
An almost imperceptible smile curved Martial’s lips.
“I believe, on the contrary, that I have saved them,” he replied.
“It is useless for us to attempt to deceive ourselves; this whole affair of the insurrection has been abominable, and you have good reason to bless the opportunity of freeing yourself from the responsibility of it which this quarrel gives you. With a little address, you can throw all the odium upon the Marquis de Courtornieu, and keep for yourself only the prestige of valuable service rendered.”
The duke’s face brightened.
“Zounds, Marquis!” he exclaimed; “that is a good idea! In the future I shall be infinitely less afraid of Courtornieu.”
Martial remained thoughtful.
“It is not the Marquis de Courtornieu whom I fear,” he murmured, “but his daughter—my wife.”