The voice of Baville! As Martin knew well enough ere, contemptuously disarming the dragoon by a flanconnade, he turned and faced the Intendant. The man whose child he had saved, yet who now denounced him as an English spy; who had learned by some means that he was a subject of France's bitterest foe.
Behind him there stood six Croatian Cravates, part of the Intendant's guards, swarthy fellows whose very name caused tremblings to all in France, though they themselves had trembled once before Prince Eugene's soldiers, and were to tremble again as Marlborough hedged them in with English steel later--men who now advanced to seize the English spy.
"Take his sword from him," Baville said. "If he resists, knock him on the head. Yet spare his life. That is mine to deal with."
For a moment the glittering blade flashed ominously before the Croatians; glittered, too, before Baville's eyes. Then the point was lowered to the ground, and Martin spoke.
"What," he asked calmly, "do these orders mean?"
"Mean?" echoed Baville. "Mean! You ask me that? They mean that you are in my hands. That to-morrow you die."
"Upon what charge?"
"Bah! I equivocate not with such as you," and he turned to go. "Nay," he exclaimed violently, looking round as Martin again addressed him. "Speak not. I require no answer. If you reply I shall forget that I am the King's Intendant, shall remember only that you are the murderer of my child, shall bid these men despatch you here upon this spot."
"The--murderer--of--your--child!" Martin repeated. "Of--of----"
"Of Urbaine Ducaire."