before I admit any to his presence."

"Say to your master," replied the other, his face flushing at the
insolence of the servant, "that one from the village of Aumenier craves
an audience on matters of great importance."

"And even that will scarcely be sufficient," began the lackey.

"Enough!" thundered Marteau. "Carry my message to him instantly," he
said fiercely, "or I shall throw you aside and carry it myself."

The servant looked at him a moment, and not relishing what he saw,
turned on his heel and disappeared.

"His Excellency will see you, sir," he said, in a manner considerably
more respectful when he returned a few moments later. "This way, sir.
His Excellency is in the drawing-room, having finished his dinner.
What name shall I announce?" he asked, his hand on the door.

"Announce no one," was the curt reply. "Open the door. I will make
myself known."

The lackey threw open the door. Marteau entered the room and closed
the door behind him. The drawing-room of the Governor's palace was
brilliantly illuminated. The Governor was receiving the officers of
the garrison and the principal inhabitants of the city that night, but
it was yet early in the evening, and none of them had arrived. The
young officer had purposely planned his visit at that hour, in order
that he might have a few moments' conversation with the Marquis before
the invited guests arrived.

There were five people gathered about the fireplace, all engrossed in
pleasant conversation apparently. It was the second of March, and the
weather made the fire blazing on the hearth very welcome. Four of the
five people in the room were men; the fifth person was a woman. It was
she whose attention was first aroused by the sound of the closing of
the door. She faced about, her glance fell upon the newcomer, a cup
which she held in her hand fell to the floor, the precious china
splintering into a thousand fragments, her face turned as white as the
lace of her low evening gown.

"Marteau!" she exclaimed in almost an agonized whisper.

"Mademoiselle," answered the soldier, bowing profoundly.

He was beautifully dressed in the nearest approach to the latest
fashion that the best tailor in Grenoble could offer--thanks to the
Major's purse--and, although his most becoming attire was not a
uniform, his every movement betrayed the soldier, as his every look
bespoke the man.

"And who have we here?" asked the oldest man of the group, the Marq