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, he said but one word to his daughter: "Well!" "You have done your duty," she replied; "it is those who have not done it, who are to be pitied!" She had no opportunity to say more.