He was delighted; certainly he blessed--as had M. de Courtornieu--these
honest and artless conspirators; but one fear, which he vainly tried to
dismiss, impaired his satisfaction.
His son, the Marquis de Sairmeuse, was he, or was he not, implicated in
this conspiracy?
He could not, he would not, believe it; and yet the recollection of
Chupin's assurance troubled him.
On the other hand, what could have become of Martial? The servant who
had been sent to warn him--had he met him? Was the marquis returning?
And by which road? Could it be possible that he had fallen into the
hands of the peasants?
The duke's relief was intense when, on returning home, after a
conference with M. de Courtornieu, he learned that Martial had arrived
about a quarter of an hour before.
"The marquis went at once to his own room on dismounting from his
horse," added the servant.
"Very well," replied the duke. "I will seek him there."
Before the servants he said, "Very well;" but secretly, he exclaimed:
"Abominable impertinence! What! I am on horseback at the head of my
troops, my life imperilled, and my son goes quietly to bed without even
assuring himself of my safety!"
He reached his son's room, but found the door closed and locked on the
inside.
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