nd as to where her affections pointed. Some of the
pride of race, of high birth and ancient lineage, had been blown away
in the dust of the revolution. She had played too long with the plain
people on the ancient estate. She had been left too much to herself.
She had seen Marteau in splendid and heroic roles. She saw him so now.
She had been his companion and associate in her youth. But of all this
none knew, and she was fain not to admit it even to herself.

"Have you anything more to communicate, Marteau, or to surrender?"
asked the Marquis coldly.

To do him justice, any service Marteau might render him was quite in
accord with the old noble's idea of what was proper and with the
ancient feudal custom by which the one family had served the other for
so long.

"I have yet something else to give up."

"Another estate?"

"A title."

"Ah, and what title, pray, and what interest have I in it?" asked the
Marquis sarcastically.

"I have here," said the young Frenchman, drawing forth another legal
document, "a patent of nobility duly signed and attested. It was
delivered to me by special courier the day after the battle of
Montereau."

"And you were created what, sir?"

"Count d'Aumenier, at your service, monsieur."

"Is this an insult?" exclaimed the Marquis, his pale face reddening.

"Sir," said the young man proudly, "it was given me by a man who has
made more men noble, and established them, than all the kings of France
before him. No power on earth could better make me Count or Prince or
King, even."

"Sir! Sir!" protested the Marquis furiously.

"I value this gift but I do not need it now. I surrender it into your
hands. You may destroy it. I shall formally and before a notary
renounce it. It shall be as if it had not been."

The Marquis took the paper, unfolded it deliberately amid a breathless
silence and glanced rapidly over it.

"Even so," he admitted.

He looked up at the gallant, magnanimous young Frenchman with more
interest and more care than before; he noticed how pale and haggard and
weak he appeared. He appreciated it for the first time. A little
change came over the hard, stern face of the old noble. He, too, had
suffered; he, too, had been hungry and weak and weary; he, too, had
eaten his heart out longing for what seemed impossible. After all,
they had been friends and more than friends, these ancient houses, the
high born and the peasant born, for many generations.