She had been left too much to herself.
She had seen Marteau in splendid and heroic roles.

She saw him so now.
She had been his companion and associate in her youth.

But of all this none knew, and she was fain not to admit it even to herself.
"Have you anything more to communicate, Marteau, or to surrender ?" asked the Marquis coldly.
To do him justice, any service Marteau might render him was quite in accord with the old noble's idea of what was proper and with the ancient feudal custom by which the one family had served the other for so long.
"I have yet something else to give up." "Another estate ?" "A title." "Ah, and what title, pray, and what interest have I in it ?" asked the Marquis sarcastically.
"I have here," said the young Frenchman, drawing forth another legal document, "a patent of nobility 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 noble, 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.