On the sudden apparition of the young Marquis de Sairmeuse, Maurice
d'Escorval's first thought was this:

"How long has he been there? Has he been playing the spy? Has he been
listening to us? What did he hear?"

His first impulse was to spring upon his enemy, to strike him in the
face, and compel him to engage in a hand-to-hand struggle.

The thought of Anne-Marie checked him.

He reflected upon the possible, even probable results of a quarrel born
of such circumstances. The combat which would ensue would cost this pure
young girl her reputation. Martial would talk of it; and country people
are pitiless. He saw this girl, whom he looked so devotedly upon, become
the talk of the neighborhood; saw the finger of scorn pointed at her,
and possessed sufficient self-control to master his anger. All these
reflections had occupied only half a second.

Then, politely touching his hat, and stepping toward Martial:

"You are a stranger, Monsieur," said he, in a voice which was
frightfully altered, "and you have doubtless lost your way?" His words
were ill-chosen, and defeated his prudent intentions. A curt "Mind your
own business" would have been less wounding. He forgot that this word
"stranger" was the most deadly insult that one could cast in the face of
the former _emigres_, who had returned with the allied armies.

Still the young marquis did not change his insolently nonchalant
attitude.