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“Gracious heavens, ’tis Winterset!” exclaimed Lady Rellerton.

“Turned highwayman and cut-throat,” cried Lady Mary.

“No, no,” laughed M. Beaucaire, somewhat unsteadily, as he stood, swaying a little, with one hand on the coach-door, the other pressed hard on his side, “he only oversee’; he is jus’ a little bashful, sometime’. He is a great man, but he don’ want all the glory!”

“Barber,” replied the Duke, “I must tell you that I gladly descend to bandy words with you; your monstrous impudence is a claim to rank I cannot ignore. But a lackey who has himself followed by six other lackeys–“

“Ha, ha! Has not M. le Duc been busy all this evening to justify me? And I think mine mus’ be the bes’ six. Ha, ha! You think?”

“M. de Chateaurien,” said Lady Mary, “we are waiting for you.”

“Pardon,” he replied. “He has something to say; maybe it is bes’ if you hear it now.”

“I wish to hear nothing from him–ever!”

“My faith, madam,” cried the Duke, “this saucy fellow has paid you the last insult! He is so sure of you he does not fear you will believe the truth. When all is told, if you do not agree he deserved the lashing we planned to–“

“I’ll hear no more!”

“You will bitterly repent it, madam. For your own sake I entreat–“

“And I also,” broke in M. Beaucaire. “Permit me, mademoiselle; let him speak.”

“Then let him be brief,” said Lady Mary, “for I am earnest to be quit of him. His explanation or an attack on my friend and on my carriage should be made to my brother.”

“Alas that he was not here,” said the Duke, “to aid me! Madam, was your carriage threatened? I have endeavored only to expunge a debt I owed to Bath and to avenge an insult offered to yourself through–“

“Sir, sir, my patience will bear little more!”

“A thousan’ apology,” said M. Beaucaire. “You will listen, I only beg, Lady Mary?”

She made an angry gesture of assent.

“Madam, I will be brief as I may. Two months ago there came to Bath a French gambler calling himself Beaucaire, a desperate fellow with the cards or dice, and all the men of fashion went to play at his lodging, where he won considerable sums. He was small, wore a black wig and mustachio. He had the insolence to show himself everywhere until the Master of Ceremonies rebuffed him in the pump-room, as you know, and after that he forbore his visits to the rooms. Mr. Nash explained (and was confirmed, madam, by indubitable information) that this Beaucaire was a man of unspeakable, vile, low birth, being, in fact, no other than a lackey of the French king’s ambassador, Victor by name, de Mirepoix’s barber. Although his condition was known, the hideous impudence of the fellow did not desert him, and he remained in Bath, where none would speak to him.”

“Is your farrago nigh done, sir?”

“A few moments, madam. One evening, three weeks gone, I observed a very elegant equipage draw up to my door, and the Duke of Chateaurien was announced. The young man’s manners were worthy–according to the French acceptance–and ’twere idle to deny him the most monstrous assurance. He declared himself a noble traveling for pleasure. He had taken lodgings in Bath for a season, he said, and called at once to pay his respects to me. His tone was so candid–in truth, I am the simplest of men, very easily gulled–and his stroke so bold, that I did not for one moment suspect him; and, to my poignant regret–though in the humblest spirit I have shown myself eager to atone–that very evening I had the shame of presenting him to yourself.”

“The shame, sir!”

“Have patience, pray, madam. Ay, the shame! You know what figure he hath cut in Bath since that evening. All ran merrily with him until several days ago Captain Badger denounced him as an impostor, vowing that Chateaurien was nothing.”