"
"Save the baron," replied the abbe, "and your letter shall be returned."
But Martial's was one of those natures which become exasperated by the
least shadow of suspicion.
The idea that anyone should suppose him influenced by threats, when in
reality, he had yielded only to Marie-Anne's tears, angered him beyond
endurance.
"These are my last words, Monsieur," he said, emphatically. "Restore
to me, now, this instant, the letter which was obtained from me by
Chanlouineau's ruse, and I swear to you, by the honor of my name, that
all which it is possible for any human being to do to save the baron, I
will do. If you distrust my word, good-evening."
The situation was desperate, the danger imminent, the time limited;
Martial's tone betrayed an inflexible determination.
The abbe could not hesitate. He drew the letter from his pocket and
handing it to Martial:
"Here it is, Monsieur," he said, solemnly, "remember that you have
pledged the honor of your name."
"I will remember it, Monsieur le Cure. Go and obtain the ropes."
The abbe's sorrow and amazement were intense, when, after the baron's
terrible fall, Maurice announced that the cord had been cut.
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