ad some new demand to make.

"I thought," said he, "that all relations between Monsieur Lacheneur and
Monsieur de Sairmeuse were broken off last evening at the house of the
abbe."

This was said in the most provoking manner, and yet Martial never so
much as frowned. He had sworn that he would remain calm, and he had
strength enough to keep his word.

"If these relations--as God forbid--have been broken off," he replied,
"believe me, Monsieur d'Escorval, it is no fault of ours."

"Then it is not as people say?"

"What people? Who?"

"The people here in the neighborhood."

"Ah! And what do these people say?"

"The truth. That you have been guilty of an offence which a man of honor
could never forgive nor forget."

The young marquis shook his head gravely.

"You are quick to condemn, sir," he said, coldly. "Permit me to hope
that Monsieur Lacheneur will be less severe than yourself; and that his
resentment--just, I confess, will vanish before"--he hesitated--"before
a truthful explanation."

Such an expression from the lips of this haughty young aristocrat! Was
it possible?

Martial profited by the effect he had produced to advance toward
Marie-Anne, and, addressing himself exclusively to her, seemed after
that to ignore the presence of Maurice completely.

"For there has been a mistake--a misunderstanding, Mademoiselle," he
continued. "Do not doubt it. The Sairmeuse are not ingrates. How
could anyone have supposed that we would intentionally give offense
to a--devoted friend of our family, and that at a moment when he had
rendered us a most signal service! A true gentleman like my father, and
a hero of probity like yours, cannot fail to esteem each other. I admit
that in the scene of yesterday, Monsieur de Sairmeuse did not appear to
advantage; but the step he takes today proves his sincere regret."

Certainly this was not the cavalier tone which he had employed in
addressing Marie-Anne, for the first time, on the square in front of the
church.

He had removed his hat, he remained half inclined before her, and
he spoke in a tone of profound respect, as though it were a haughty
duchess, and not the humble daughter of that "rascal" Lacheneur whom he
was addressing.

Was it only a _roue's_ manoeuvre? Or had he also involuntarily submitted
to the power of this beautiful girl? It was both; and it would have
been difficult for him to say where the voluntary ended, and where the
involuntary began.

He con