elling over the Sairmeuse
road on our way to the Croix d'Arcy, and after your father had left
us to ride on in advance, Maurice placed himself at the head of one
division, and you walked beside him, while your brother Jean and myself
stayed behind to urge on the laggards. We were performing our duty
conscientiously when suddenly we heard the gallop of a horse behind us.
'We must know who is coming,' Jean said to me.

"We paused. The horse soon reached us; we caught the bridle and held
him. Can you guess who the rider was? Martial de Sairmeuse.

"To describe your brother's fury on recognizing the marquis would be
impossible.

"'At last I find you, wretched noble!' he exclaimed, 'and now we will
settle our account! After reducing my father, who has just given you a
fortune, to despair and penury, you have tried to degrade my sister. I
will have my revenge! Down, we must fight!'"

Marie-Anne could scarcely tell whether she was awake or dreaming.

"My brother," she murmured, "has challenged the marquis! Is it
possible?"

"Brave as Monsieur Martial is," pursued Chanlouineau, "he did not seem
inclined to accept the invitation. He stammered out something like this:
'You are mad--you are jesting--have we not always been friends? What
does this mean?'

"Jean ground his teeth in rage. 'This means that we have endured your
insulting familiarity long enough,' he replied, 'and if you do not
dismount and meet me in open combat, I will blow your brains out!'

"Your brother, as he spoke, manipulated his pistol in so threatening a
manner that the marquis dismounted, and addressing me:

"'You see, Chanlouineau,' he said, 'I must fight a duel or submit to
assassination. If Jean kills me there is no more to be said--but if I
kill him, what is to be done?'

"I told him he would be free to depart on condition he would give me his
word not to return to Montaignac before two o'clock.

"'Then I accept the challenge,' said he; 'give me a weapon.'

"I gave him my sword, your brother drew his, and they took their places
in the middle of the highway."

The young farmer paused to take breath, then said, more slowly:

"Marie-Anne, your father and I have misjudged your brother. Poor Jean's
appearance is terribly against him. His face indicates a treacherous,
cowardly nature, his smile is cunning, and his eyes always shun yours.
We have distrusted him, but we should ask his pardon. A man who fights
as I saw him fight, is deserving of c