Russians, whose horses were trampling the crops under foot.

The name of d'Escorval heard, above the clink of the glasses, suddenly
aroused Martial from his dream of enchantment.

An old gentleman had just risen, and proposed that active measures
should be taken to rid the neighborhood of the Baron d'Escorval.

"The presence of such a man dishonors our country," said he, "he is a
frantic Jacobin, and admitted to be dangerous, since Monsieur Fouche
has him upon his list of suspected persons; and he is even now under the
surveillance of the police."

This discourse could not have failed to arouse intense anxiety in M.
d'Escorval's breast had he seen the ferocity expressed on almost every
face.

Still no one spoke; hesitation could be read in every eye.

Martial, too, had turned so white that Mlle. Blanche remarked his pallor
and thought he was ill.

In fact, a terrible struggle was going on in the soul of the young
marquis; a conflict between his honor and passion.

Had he not longed only a few hours before to find some way of driving
Maurice from the country?

Ah, well! the opportunity he so ardently desired now presented itself.
It was impossible to imagine a better one. If the proposed step was