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"Do not utter a word more, Count," said he; "I forbid you to do so." He spoke so disrespectfully that Octave was about to strike him, but Montlouis drew back and avoided the blow; but he was so intoxicated with fury that this last insult roused him beyond all bounds. "By what right do you speak thus," said he, "who have married another man's mistress?
He turned round sharply, and found himself face to face with a young man, who, seeing his look of surprise, said, "What! have you entirely forgotten your old friend Montlouis?" Montlouis was the son of one of the Duke's farmers, and he and Norbert had often played together in past years.
Montlouis who had been full of zeal while in Paris, had renewed his liaison, on his return to Mussidan, with the girl with whom he had been formerly entangled at Poitiers. This, of course, could not be permitted to go on, and an explosion was clearly to be expected; but what Diana dreaded most was the accidental development of some unseen chance.
"And you, Marquis, I hear, are to marry Mademoiselle de Puymandour; I could scarcely credit the news." "And why, pray?" "Because I remembered when we used to wait outside a certain garden wall, until we saw a certain door open discreetly." "But you must efface all this from your memory, Montlouis." "Do not be alarmed; save to you, my lips would never utter a word of this.
The Count was not for a moment the dupe of the generous-souled girl, but he did not dare to brave the scandal of the death of Montlouis, and still less the exposure of his wife's conduct. Time was passing, however, and the miscreants in whose power they were made no signs of life. Hortebise did not appear any more, and there were moments when the miserable Diana actually ventured to hope.
"We must say that it was an accident," observed he quickly. "Thinking that Montlouis was not near, my master fired into cover." "'This was agreed to, and we carefully arranged what we should say. It was I who went before the magistrate and made a deposition, which was unhesitatingly received. But, oh, what a fearful day! My pulse is at eighty, and I feel I shall not sleep all night.
I am now with the Viscount de Mussidan, as his private secretary. M. Octave is not the most agreeable man in the world to get on with, as he gets into the most violent passions on very trivial occasions; but he has a good heart, after all, and I am very pleased with the position I have gained." "I am very glad to hear it, Montlouis, very much pleased indeed."
In reality Montlouis did not believe one word of Norbert's assertion, and the young Marquis could read this in his companion's face. "The more so," continued the secretary, "as the young lady is about to be married to my friend and patron." "But where," asked Norbert, "did the Viscount meet with Mademoiselle de Laurebourg?"
They had driven their cows to the meadows together, and had spent long days together fishing or searching for birds' nests. The dress now worn by Montlouis had at first prevented Norbert from recognizing him, for he was attired in the uniform of the college at which his father had placed him, being desirous of making something more than a mere farmer of his son.
It was evident that something had happened to one of the party; which of them could it be? The doubt was not of very long duration; for at that moment her husband entered the courtyard, supported by M. de Clinchain and Ludovic. His face was deadly pale, and he seemed scarcely able to drag one leg after the other. The dead man therefore must be Montlouis.
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