Part 91 (1/2)
She seized his arm and shook it roughly, saying, in the most peremptory tone:
”Father! father!”
This voice, which had so often made the Marquis de Courtornieu tremble, was far more efficacious than eau de cologne. He opened one eye the least bit in the world, then quickly closed it; but not so quickly that his daughter failed to discover it.
”I wish to speak with you,” she said; ”get up.”
He dared not disobey, and slowly and with difficulty, he raised himself.
”Ah! how I suffer!” he groaned; ”how I suffer!”
His daughter glanced at him scornfully; then, in a tone of bitter irony, she remarked:
”Do you think I am in Paradise?”
”Speak,” sighed the marquis. ”What do you wish to say?”
The bride turned haughtily to the servants.
”Leave the room!” she said, imperiously.
They obeyed, and, after she had locked the door:
”Let us speak of Martial,” she began.
At the sound of this name, the marquis bounded from his chair with clinched fists.
”Ah, the wretch!” he exclaimed.
”Martial is my husband, father.”
”And you!--after what he has done--you dare to defend him?”
”I do not defend him; but I do not wish him to be murdered.”
At that moment the news of Martial's death would have given the Marquis de Courtornieu infinite satisfaction.
”You heard, father,” continued Blanche, ”the rendezvous appointed to-morrow, at mid-day, on the Reche. I know Martial; he has been insulted, and he will go there. Will he encounter a loyal adversary? No.
He will find a crowd of a.s.sa.s.sins. You alone can prevent him from being a.s.sa.s.sinated.”
”I! and how?”
”By sending some soldiers to the Reche, with orders to conceal themselves in the grove--with orders to arrest these murderers at the proper moment.”
The marquis gravely shook his head.
”If I do that,” said he, ”Martial is quite capable--”