"let us withdraw. It is scandalous that
we should be here under such circumstances. You, sir," he turned to
Marteau, "this way."

The poor Countess had stood in agony and despair. Marteau did not look
at her. He bent his head low as he passed her. Two soldiers of the
guard grasped him by the arms, the rest closed about him.

"Go, gentlemen. I will see you presently," said the Marquis. "One of
you servants yonder send the Countess's women here."

"I thank God," said young Yeovil, "that we got here in time. If he had
harmed you, dearest Laure, I would have killed him here where he stood."

Her lover attempted to take her hand, but she shrank away from him. As
Sir Gervaise passed her she bent forward and seized the old Baronet's
hand and kissed it. He, at least, had seen that there was something
beneath the surface.

"Now, my child," said the old Marquis kindly, but with fearful
sternness, as the door closed behind the others, "what have you to add
to what has been told?"

"What do you mean?"

"I know men. I know that that young man did not come here to assault
you, or for robbery. You cannot tell me that the blood of the Marteaux
runs in his veins for nothing. And I know you did not invite him here,
either. You are a d'Aumenier. What is the explanation of it all?"

But the poor little Countess made no answer. She slowly collapsed on
the floor at the feet of the iron old man, who, to save her honor and
reputation, had played his part, even as Marteau, in her bedroom on
that mad March morning.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE MARQUIS GRANTS AN INTERVIEW

The old Marquis was face to face with a terribly difficult problem.
That the Eagle had been brought back did not admit of doubt. St.
Laurent had seen it, and the officers who had been present at the
midnight meeting in the Major's rooms made no attempt whatever to deny
it. Marteau admitted it. But it had disappeared. He had not the
faintest idea where it was. The most rigorous search had so far failed
to discover it. Marteau had been questioned, appealed to, threatened,
with no results whatsoever. His lips were sealed and no pressure that
could be brought to bear sufficed to open them. He did not deny that
he knew where the Eagle was. He simply remained silent, immutably
silent, when he was asked where.

From the few loyalist officers in the regiments and in the town a court
had been convened and Marteau had been put on trial. He had been