The duke understood his host's astonishment.

"Upon my word, Abbe!" he said, with the impertinent ease of a _grand
seigneur_ who makes himself at home everywhere, "we have taken your
house by storm, and hold the position, as you see. I am the Duc de
Sairmeuse, and this is my son, the Marquis."

The priest bowed, but he did not seem very greatly impressed by the
exalted rank of his guests.

"It is a great honor for me," he replied, in a more than reserved tone,
"to receive a visit from the former master of this place."

He emphasized this word "former" in such a manner that it was impossible
to doubt his sentiments and his opinions.

"Unfortunately," he continued, "you will not find here the comforts to
which you are accustomed, and I fear----"

"Nonsense!" interrupted the duke. "An old soldier is not fastidious,
and what suffices for you, Monsieur Abbe, will suffice for us. And rest
assured that we shall amply repay you in one way or another for any
inconvenience we may cause you."

The priest's eye flashed. This want of tact, this disagreeable
familiarity, this last insulting remark, kindled the anger of the man
concealed beneath the priest.

"Besides," added Martial, gayly, "we have been vastly amused by