Part 29 (1/2)

”Another estate?”

”A t.i.tle.”

”Ah, and what t.i.tle, pray, and what interest have I in it?” asked the Marquis sarcastically.

”I have here,” said the young Frenchman, drawing forth another legal doc.u.ment, ”a patent of n.o.bility duly signed and attested. It was delivered to me by special courier the day after the battle of Montereau.”

”And you were created what, sir?”

”Count d'Aumenier, at your service, monsieur.”

”Is this an insult?” exclaimed the Marquis, his pale face reddening.

”Sir,” said the young man proudly, ”it was given me by a man who has made more men n.o.ble, and established them, than all the kings of France before him. No power on earth could better make me Count or Prince or King, even.”

”Sir! Sir!” protested the Marquis furiously.

”I value this gift but I do not need it now. I surrender it into your hands. You may destroy it. I shall formally and before a notary renounce it. It shall be as if it had not been.”

The Marquis took the paper, unfolded it deliberately amid a breathless silence and glanced rapidly over it.

”Even so,” he admitted.

He looked up at the gallant, magnanimous young Frenchman with more interest and more care than before; he noticed how pale and haggard and weak he appeared. He appreciated it for the first time. A little change came over the hard, stern face of the old n.o.ble. He, too, had suffered; he, too, had been hungry and weak and weary; he, too, had eaten his heart out longing for what seemed impossible. After all, they had been friends and more than friends, these ancient houses, the high born and the peasant born, for many generations.

”St. Laurent,” he said sharply, ”we have been remiss. Monsieur is ill, a chair for him. Laure, a gla.s.s of wine.”

Indeed, the constraint that Marteau had put upon himself had drawn heavily upon his scanty reserve of nervous force. St. Laurent did not like the task, but there was that in the Marquis's voice which warned him not to hesitate. He offered a chair, into which the young man sank. From a decanter on the table the girl, her hand trembling, poured out a gla.s.s of wine. Swiftly she approached him, she bent over him, moved by a sudden impulse, she sank on her knees by his side and tendered him the gla.s.s.

”On your knees, Laure!” protested the young Englishman. ”It is not meet that----”

”In grat.i.tude to a man who has served me well and who has set us all a n.o.ble example of renunciation by his surrender of land and t.i.tle here in this very room.”

”Rise, mademoiselle,” said Marteau, taking the gla.s.s from her still trembling hand. ”The honor is too great for me. I cannot remain seated unless----”

”Very pretty,” said the Marquis coolly as young Captain Yeovil helped his reluctant young betrothed to her feet. ”Your health, monsieur,” he continued, taking up his own gla.s.s. ”By all the saints, sir,” he added as he drained his gla.s.s, ”you have acted quite like a gentleman.”

”'Quite,' my uncle?” quoted the young woman with deep emphasis on the word.

”Well, what more could I say to a Marteau?”

”What more indeed,” said the young officer, smiling in proud disdain.

”Damme if I wouldn't have left the 'quite' out,” muttered the elder Yeovil.

”I have your leave to withdraw now, monsieur?” asked the young officer.

”You dismissed me a moment since.”

”Now I ask you to stay. By the cross of St. Louis,” said the old Marquis, fingering his order, ”I am proud of you, young man. Take the commission. I should like them to see what sort of men we breed in Champagne and----”