stop. The baron paused, greatly surprised; Martial, with that air of
ingenuousness which he knew so well how to assume, and in an almost
brusque tone, said:

"I hope, Monsieur, that you will excuse me for having followed you, when
you hear what I have to say. I am not of your party; I loathe what you
adore; but I have none of the passion nor the malice of your enemies.
For this reason I tell you that if I were in your place I would take
a journey. The frontier is but a few miles away; a good horse, a short
gallop, and you have crossed it. A word to the wise is--salvation!"

And without waiting for any response, he turned and retraced his steps.

M. d'Escorval was amazed and confounded.

"One might suppose there was a conspiracy to drive me away!" he
murmured. "But I have good reason to distrust the disinterestedness of
this young man."

Martial was already far off. Had he been less preoccupied, he would
have perceived two figures in the wood. Mlle. Blanche de Courtornieu,
followed by the inevitable Aunt Medea, had come to play the spy.



CHAPTER XVII

The Marquis de Courtornieu idolized his daughter. Everyone spoke of that
as an incontestable and uncontested fact.