upon that. He must act and
instantly. He rushed toward the woman. He caught her by the hand. He
even shook her a little.

"Shriek," he whispered in her ear.

He picked up the pistol from the bed upon which she had thrown it and
pointing it upward pulled the trigger. Startled by his utterly
unexpected action, the meaning of which she could not fathom, she did
scream loudly. The next instant the door was thrown open and into the
room half clad, sword in hand, burst the Marquis. With him were Sir
Gervaise Yeovil and the young Captain, and attending them were servants
and guards bearing lights.

The Marquis stared from his niece back to the young officer.

"My God!" he exclaimed. "Is it you?"

Marteau could only bow. He had a few seconds to make up his mind, a
few seconds to decide upon the role he must play. Well, his life was
certainly forfeit, his reputation he would also give for hers. Any
explanation that he could make would be disbelieved unless, of course,
he produced the Eagle, which was not to be thought of. Failing the
Eagle the more he endeavored to account for his presence the more
deeply would he involve the woman he loved.

"I find you here, you that I treated almost like a gentleman, who, I
thought, nearly measured up to the title, in my niece's room at this
hour of the morning," continued the enraged old man. "Laure, has
he--has he harmed you?"

"You came too quickly, monsieur," answered Marteau, himself, giving the
young woman time to recover herself. "You heard the pistol shot." He
threw the weapon from him. "We were struggling. It went off and----"

"You damned low-born coward," gritted out the English officer, stepping
toward him furious with anger.

"Steady, Frank. There is something strange about this," said Sir
Gervaise gloomily, catching his son by the arm. "He is no coward.
That I'll warrant."

"But to seek entry into a woman's bed-chamber!" continued Frank
furiously. "If you were a gentleman I'd----"

"That 'almost,'" said Marteau, "saves me in this instance."

"I feel this action almost as if it had been my own son, had God
blessed me with one," said the old Marquis, slowly recovering his
self-command. "A loyal Marteau, a thief, a despoiler of women! Why,
she knelt to you in the hall. She raised her voice in your defense,
and now you--you----" His fingers twitched. "'The Count d'Aumenier,'"
he added in bittery mockery. "You could not bear the title if it h