Part 62 (2/2)
”I cannot speak until I am alone with you.”
At a sign from his father, Martial left the room.
”You can speak now,” said the duke.
She did not lose a second.
”You must have read, Monsieur,” she began, ”the circular convening the conspirators.”
”Certainly; I have a dozen copies in my pocket.”
”By whom do you suppose it was written?”
”By the elder d'Escorval, or by your father.”
”You are mistaken, Monsieur; that letter was the work of the Marquis de Sairmeuse, your son.”
The duke sprang up, fire flas.h.i.+ng from his eyes, his face purple with anger.
”Zounds! girl! I advise you to bridle your tongue!”
”The proof of what I have a.s.serted exists.”
”Silence, you hussy, or----”
”The lady who sends me here, Monsieur, possesses the original of this circular written by the hand of Monsieur Martial, and I am obliged to tell you----”
She did not have an opportunity to complete the sentence. The duke sprang to the door, and, in a voice of thunder, called his son.
As soon as Martial entered the room:
”Repeat,” said the duke--”repeat before my son what you have just said to me.”
Boldly, with head erect, and clear, firm voice, Marie-Anne repeated her accusation.
She expected, on the part of the marquis, an indignant denial, cruel reproaches, or an angry explanation. Not a word. He listened with a nonchalant air, and she almost believed she could read in his eyes an encouragement to proceed, and a promise of protection.
When she had concluded:
”Well!” demanded the duke, imperiously.
”First,” replied Martial, lightly, ”I would like to see this famous circular.”
The duke handed him a copy.
”Here--read it.”
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