CHAPTER XL
The twenty-four hours which Blanche had spent in measuring the extent ofher terrible misfortune, the duke had spent in raving and swearing.
He had not even thought of going to bed.
After his fruitless search for his son he returned to the chateau, andbegan a continuous tramp to and fro in the great hall.
He was almost sinking from weariness when his son's letter was handedhim.
It was very brief.
Martial did not vouchsafe any explanation; he did not even mention therupture between his wife and himself.
"I cannot return to Sairmeuse," he wrote, "and yet it is of the utmostimportance that I should see you.
"You will, I trust, approve my determinations when I explain the reasonsthat have guided me in making them.
"Come to Montaignac, then, the sooner the better. I am waiting for you."
Had he listened to the prompting of his impatience, the duke wouldhave started at once. But how could he thus abandon the Marquis deCourtornieu, who had accepted his hospitality, and especially Blanche,his son's wife?
He must, at least, see them, speak to them, and warn them of hisintended departure.
He attempted this in vain. Mme. Blanche had shut herself up in her ownapartments, and remained deaf to all entreaties for admittance. Herfather had been put to bed, and the physician who had been summoned toattend him, declared the marquis to be at death's door.
The duke was therefore obliged to resign himself to the prospect ofanother night of suspense, which was almost intolerable to a characterlike his.
"To-morrow, after breakfast, I will find some pretext to escape, withouttelling them I am going to see Martial," he thought.
He was spared this trouble. The next morning, at about nine o'clock,while he was dressing, a servant came to inform him that M. deCourtornieu and his daughter were awaiting him in the drawing-room.
Much surprised, he hastened down.
When he entered the room, the marquis, who was seated in an arm-chair,rose, leaning heavily upon the shoulder of Aunt Medea.
Mme. Blanche came rapidly forward to meet the duke, as pale as if everydrop of blood had been drawn from her veins.
"We are going, Monsieur le Duc," she said, coldly, "and we wish to makeour adieux."
"What! you are going? Will you not----"
The young bride interrupted him by a sad gesture, and drawing Martial'sletter from her bosom, she handed it to M. de Sairmeuse, saying.
"Will you do me the favor to peruse this, Monsieur?"
The duke glanced over the short epistle, and his astonishment was sointense that he could not even find an oath.
"Incomprehensible!" he faltered; "incomprehensible!"
"Incomprehensible, indeed," repeated the young wife, sadly, but withoutbitterness. "I was married yesterday; to-day I am deserted. It wouldhave been generous to have reflected the evening before and not the nextday. Tell Martial, however, that I forgive him for having destroyed mylife, for having made me the most miserable of creatures. I also forgivehim for the supreme insult of speaking to me of his fortune. I trust hemay be happy. Adieu, Monsieur le Duc, we shall never meet again. Adieu!"
She took her father's arm, and they were about to retire, when M. deSairmeuse hastily threw himself between them and the door.
"You shall not depart thus!" he exclaimed. "I will not suffer it. Wait,at least, until I have seen Martial. Perhaps he is not as culpable asyou suppose--"
"Enough!" interrupted the marquis; "enough! This is one of thoseoutrages which can never be repaired. May your conscience forgive you,as I, myself, forgive you. Farewell!"
This was said so perfectly, with such entire harmony of intonation andgesture, that M. de Sairmeuse was bewildered.
With an absolutely wonderstruck air he watched the marquis and hisdaughter depart, and they had been gone some moments before he recoveredhimself sufficiently to exclaim:
"Old hypocrite! does he believe me his dupe?"
His dupe! M. de Sairmeuse was so far from being his dupe, that his nextthought was:
"What is to follow this farce? He says that he pardons us--that meansthat he has some crushing blow in store for us."
This conviction filled him with disquietude. He really felt unable tocope successfully with the perfidious marquis.
"But Martial is a match for him!" he exclaimed. "Yes, I must see Martialat once."
So great was his anxiety that he lent a helping hand in harnessing thehorses he had ordered, and when the carriage was ready, he announced hisdetermination to drive himself.
As he urged the horses furiously on he tried to reflect, but the mostcontradictory ideas seethed in his brain, and he lost all power toconsider the situation calmly.
He burst into Martial's room like a tornado. "I think you must certainlyhave gone mad, Marquis," he exclaimed. "That is the only valid excuseyou can offer."
But Martial, who had been expecting this visit, had prepared himself forit.
"Never, on the contrary, have I felt more calm and composed in mind,"he replied. "Allow me to ask you one question. Was it you who sent thesoldiers to the rendezvous which Maurice d'Escorval had appointed?"
"Marquis!"
"Very well! Then it was another act of infamy on the part of the Marquisde Courtornieu."
The duke made no reply. In spite of his faults and his vices,this haughty man possessed the characteristic of the old Frenchnobility--fidelity to his word and undoubted valor.
He thought it perfectly natural, even necessary, that Martial shouldfight with Maurice; and he thought it a contemptible act to send armedsoldiers to seize an honest and confiding opponent.
"This is the second time," pursued Martial, "that this scoundrel hasattempted to bring dishonor upon our name; and if I desire to convincepeople of the truth of this assertion, I must break off all connectionwith him and his daughter. I have done this. I do not regret it, since Imarried her only out of deference to your wishes, and because it seemednecessary for me to marry, and because all women, save one who can neverbe mine, are alike to me."
Such utterances were not at all calculated to reassure the duke.
"This sentiment is very noble, no doubt," said he; "but it has none theless ruined the political prospects of our house."
An almost imperceptible smile curved Martial's lips.
"I believe, on the contrary, that I have saved them," he replied.
"It is useless for us to attempt to deceive ourselves; this whole affairof the insurrection has been abominable, and you have good reason tobless the opportunity of freeing yourself from the responsibility of itwhich this quarrel gives you. With a little address, you can throw allthe odium upon the Marquis de Courtornieu, and keep for yourself onlythe prestige of valuable service rendered."
The duke's face brightened.
"Zounds, Marquis!" he exclaimed; "that is a good idea! In the future Ishall be infinitely less afraid of Courtornieu."
Martial remained thoughtful.
"It is not the Marquis de Courtornieu whom I fear," he murmured, "buthis daughter--my wife."