"Yes, yes, we know." 

 "I want to get my revenge on someone and who better than she?" 

 The young officer did not dare again to look at the young woman. He could feel the horror, the amazement, the contempt in her glance. Was this one of the loyal Marteaux? 

 "Make her suffer for us!" 

 "Our children!" 

 "Our mothers!" 

 "Our daughters!" cried one after the other, intoxicated with their wrongs, real or fancied, their faces black with rage, their clenched hands raised to heaven as if invoking vengeance. 

 "Have no fear," said Marteau.  "Because of my father's position I know where the wine cellar is, and there is food there." 

 "Lead on," said the chief.  "We've talked too much." 

 "This way," replied the young captain, lifting the only candlestick from the table.  "Leave two men to watch the woman and give the alarm, the rest follow me." 

 Marteau knew the old castle like a book. He knew where the keys were kept. Chatting carelessly and giving them every evidence of his familiarity, he found the keys, unlocked the doors, led them from room to room, from level to level, until finally they reached the wine cellar. It was separated from the cellar in which they stood by a heavy iron-bound oaken door. In spite of his easy bearing and manner, suspicions had been aroused in the uneasy minds of the rabble, but when Marteau lifted the candle and bade them bring their own lights and see through an iron grating in the door what the chamber beyond contained and they recognized the casks and bottles, to say nothing of hams, smoked meats and other eatables, their suspicions vanished. They burst into uproarious acclamation. 

 "Hasten," cried the leader. 

 "This is the last door." 

 "Have you the key?" 

 "It is here." 

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