d her, upon which he had very successfully
counterfeited a look of hatred. "Is it indeed----"

"Silence," thundered the young soldier, stepping near to her and
shaking his clenched fist in her face. "These worthy patriots will
give you to me, and then----"

There was a burst of wild laughter throughout the room.

"It's these cursed aristocrats that have brought these hateful Russians
upon us," cried one.

"Give her to the lad and let us have food and drink," cried another.

"He'll deal with her," cried a third.

"You hear?" asked the chief.

"I hear," answered Marteau. "Listen. My father kept this house for
its owners. He is dead in the village yonder."

"The wine, the wine," roared one, licking his lips.

"Food. I starve," cried another, baring his teeth.

"Wait. Naturally, fleeing from the army, I came to him. My sister is
dead too, outraged, murdered. You know?"

"Yes, yes, we know."

"I want to get my revenge on someone and who better than she?"

The young officer did not dare again to look at the young woman. He
could feel the horror, the amazement, the contempt in her glance. Was
this one of the loyal Marteaux?

"Make her suffer for us!"

"Our children!"

"Our mothers!"

"Our daughters!" cried one after the other, intoxicated with their
wrongs, real or fancied, their faces black with rage, their clenched
hands raised to heaven as if invoking vengeance.

"Have no fear," said Marteau. "Because of my father's position I know
where the wine cellar is, and there is food there."

"Lead on," said the chief. "We've talked too much."

"This way," replied the young captain, lifting the only candlestick
from the table. "Leave two men to watch the woman and give the alarm,
the rest follow me."

Marteau knew the old castle like a book. He knew where the keys were
kept. Chatting carelessly and giving them every evidence of his
familiarity, he found the keys, unlocked the doors, led them from room
to room, from level to level, until finally they reached the wine
cellar. It was separated from the cellar in which they stood by a
heavy iron-bound oaken door. In spite of his easy bearing and manner,
suspicions had been aroused in the uneasy minds of the rabble, but when
Marteau lifted the candle and bade them bring their own lights and see
through an iron grating in the door what the chamber beyond contained
and they recognized the casks and bottles, to say nothing of hams,
smoked meats