Lacheneur stood motionless and speechless. He tried to reply, but
he could not. If he opened his lips it would only be to pour forth a
torrent of menaces, insults, and invectives.

Marie-Anne stepped quickly forward.

"The proof, Monsieur," said she, in a clear, ringing voice, "is the word
of this man, who, of his own free will, comes to return to you--to give
you a fortune."

As she sprang forward her beautiful dark hair escaped from its
confinement, the rich blood crimsoned her cheeks, her dark eyes flashed
brilliantly, and sorrow, anger, horror at the humiliation, imparted a
sublime expression to her face.

She was so beautiful that Martial regarded her with wonder.

"Lovely!" he murmured, in English; "beautiful as an angel!"

These words, which she understood, abashed Marie-Anne. But she had said
enough; her father felt that he was avenged.

He drew from his pocket a roll of papers, and throwing them upon the
table: "Here are your titles," he said, addressing the duke in a tone
full of implacable hatred. "Keep the legacy that your aunt gave me,
I wish nothing of yours. I shall never set foot in Sairmeuse again.
Penniless I entered it, penniless I will leave it!"

He quitted the room with head proudly erect, and when they were outside,