to your mistress, I tell you." Martiniere now
believed Mademoiselle was in the most imminent danger; and her
affection for her beloved mistress, whom she honoured, moreover, as her
good and faithful mother, burnt up stronger in her heart, enkindling a
courage which she had not conceived herself capable of showing. Hastily
pulling to the door of her chamber, which she had left standing open,
she planted herself before it, and said in a strong firm voice, "I tell
you what, your mad behaviour in the house here, corresponds but ill
with your plaintive words outside; I see clearly that I let my pity be
excited on a wrong occasion. You neither ought to, nor shall you, speak
to my mistress now. If your intentions are not evil, you need not fear
daylight; so come again to-morrow and state your business then. Now,
begone with you out of the house." The man heaved a deep and painful
sigh, and fixing Martiniere with a formidable look, grasped his
stiletto. She silently commended her soul to Heaven, but manfully stood
her ground, and boldly met the man's gaze, at the same time drawing
herself closer to the door, for through it the man would have to go to
get to her mistress's chamber. "Let me go to your mistress, I tell
you!" cried the man again. "Do what you will," replied Martiniere, "I
shall not stir from this place. Go on and finish your wicked deed; but
remember that you also will die a shameful death at the Place Greve,
like your atrocious partners in crime." "Ah! yes, you are right, La
Martiniere," replied the man, "I do look like a villainous robber and
cut-throat, and am armed like one, but my partners have not been
executed,--no, not yet." Therewith, hurling looks of furious wrath at
the poor woman, who was almost dead with terror, he drew his stiletto.
"O God! O God!" she exclaimed, expecting her death-blow; but at
this moment there was heard a rattle of arms in the street, and the
hoof-strokes of horses. "The _Marechaussee_![3] the _Marechaussee_!
Help! Help!" screamed Martiniere. "You abominable woman, you are
determined to ruin me. All is lost now--it's all over. But here,
here--take this. Give that to your mistress this very night--to-morrow
if you like." Whispering these words, he snatched the light from La
Martiniere, extinguished it, and then forced a casket into her hands.
"By your hopes of salvation, I conjure you, give this casket to
Mademoiselle," cried the man; and he rushed out of the house.

Martiniere fell