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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
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