Jean said nothing at all, but making a lunge toward the Marquis, collared him and threw him on the floor. Then with his knee on the Marquis’s chest, Jean thumped and pounded his enemy.
Diane stood by, laughing and clapping her hands. The Marquis was a strong and lithe young man, but Jean, a maniac in his rage, was a match for two of him. In the end he had to be dragged off the Marquis, who tottered to his feet, wiped the blood off his face, and made some vague threats. But he was evidently in the house of his enemies.
“You shall pay for this, every one of you!” he shouted; “I will call you all as witnesses to this assault.”
“Do!” cried François; “I will go before the police and swear that you struck this young lady and were threatening to kill her, and were only prevented by Jean Leroux holding you, and that you have made threats against the lives of all of us. Of course, the whole affair will come before your colonel, and then we shall see what we shall see. And by the way, don’t ask me to supper with you any more, for I wouldn’t be seen with a low dog like you. And in particular, I disown you as a relative.”
There was nothing for it but for the Marquis to leave. He got downstairs as best he could, limping, with no look whatever of a bridegroom, slipped into the carriage, and was driven away.
Jean then went to wash off the stains of his encounter, and Diane disappeared.
François ran off to tell the story to the good Bishop, who dearly loved gossip.
When they met for dinner at noon, Diane was not present, but on the table lay a letter addressed to Madame Grandin. It read:
“Dear Madame Grandin: I thank you and Monsieur Grandin for all your kindness to me, and I thank François for teaching me to act, and Jean for teaching me to sing and being always good to me. I don’t know how I can live without all of you, but I cannot face you after what has happened. I shall be far away when you read this. Take care of the lady and the little girl in my room until they are able to go away. You will find one hundred and fifty-two francs in the cupboard in the kitchen, and I want you to use that for them and buy a plenty of milk for the little child. Don’t tell them where it comes from; I think they are very badly off for money. Oh, Madame Grandin! truly, there is a thorn in every heart, but—”
Here the sheet was blotted apparently with tears, but at the bottom was scribbled the signature, “Diane Dorian.”