med engrossed in thought.

"I think, Monsieur," he said, at last, "that we should testify our
gratitude to this man by paying him a large indemnity."

This word excited the duke's anger.

"An indemnity!" he exclaimed. "Are you mad, Marquis? Think of the income
that he has received from my estate. Have you forgotten the calculation
made for us last evening by the Chevalier de la Livandiere?"

"The chevalier is a fool!" declared Martial promptly. "He forgot that
Lacheneur has trebled the value of Sairmeuse. I think that our family
honor requires us to bestow upon this man an indemnity of at least
one hundred thousand francs. This would, moreover, be a good stroke of
policy in the present state of public sentiment, and His Majesty would,
I am sure, be much pleased."

"Stroke of policy"--"public sentiment"--"His Majesty." One might have
obtained almost anything from M. de Sairmeuse by these arguments.

"Heavenly powers!" he exclaimed; "a hundred thousand francs! how you
talk! It is all very well for you, with your fortune! Still, if you
really think so----"

"Ah! my dear sir, is not my fortune yours? Yes, such is really my
opinion. So much so, indeed, that if you will allow me to do so, I will
see Lacheneur myself, and arrange the matter in such a way that his
pride will not be wounded. His is a devotion which it would be well to
retain."

The duke opened his eyes to their widest extent.

"Lacheneur's pride!" he murmured. "Devotion which it would be well to
retain! Why do you sing in this strain? Whence comes this extraordinary
interest?"

He paused, enlightened by a sudden recollection.

"I understand!" he exclaimed; "I understand. He has a pretty daughter."

Martial smiled without replying.

"Yes, pretty as a rose," continued the duke; "but one hundred thousand
francs! Zounds! That is a round sum to pay for such a whim. But, if you
insist upon it----"

Armed with this authorization, Martial, two hours later, started on his
mission.

The first peasant he met told him the way to the cottage which M.
Lacheneur now occupied.

"Follow the river," said the man, "and when you see a pine-grove upon
your left, cross it."

Martial was crossing it, when he heard the sound of voices. He
approached, recognized Marie-Anne and Maurice d'Escorval, and obeying an
angry impulse, he paused.

CHAPTER XI

During the decisive moments of life, when one's entire future depends
upon a word, or a gesture, twenty contr