he murderess.

But he desired another glance at the interior of the hovel, and he again
lifted himself up to the opening and looked in.

The old woman had disappeared; the young soldier had risen from the
table and was talking and gesticulating earnestly. Mme. Blanche and
Camille were listening to him with the closest attention.

The two men who were sitting face to face, with their elbows upon the
table, were looking at each other; and Martial saw them exchange a
significant glance.

He was not wrong. The scoundrels were plotting "a rich haul."

Mme. Blanche, who had dressed herself with such care, that to render her
disguise perfect she had encased her feet in large, coarse shoes that
were almost killing her--Mme. Blanche had forgotten to remove her superb
diamond ear-rings.

She had forgotten them, but Lacheneur's accomplices had noticed them,
and were now regarding them with eyes that glittered more brilliantly
than the diamonds themselves.

While awaiting Lacheneur's coming, these wretches, as had been agreed
upon, were playing the part which he had imposed upon them. For this,
and their assistance afterward, they were to receive a certain sum of
money.

But they were thinking that this sum was not, perhaps, a quarter part of
the value of these jewels, and they exchanged glances that said:

"Ah! if we could only get them and make our escape before Lacheneur
comes!"

The temptation was too strong to be resisted.

One of them rose suddenly, and, seizing the duchess by the back of the
neck, he forced her head down upon the table.

The diamonds would have been torn from the ears of Mme. Blanche had it
not been for Camille, who bravely came to the aid of her mistress.

Martial could endure no more. He sprang to the door of the hovel, opened
it, and entered, bolting it behind him.

"Martial!"

"Monsieur le Duc!"

These cries escaping the lips of Mme. Blanche and Camille in the same
breath, changed the momentary stupor of their assailants into fury; and
they both precipitated themselves upon Martial, determined to kill him.

With a spring to one side, Martial avoided them. He had his revolver in
his hand; he fired twice and the wretches fell. But he was not yet safe,
for the young soldier threw himself upon him, and attempted to disarm
him.

Through all the furious struggle, Martial did not cease crying, in a
panting voice:

"Fly! Blanche, fly! Otto is not far off. The name--save the honor of the