FullReads

“Pardon,” interrupted M. Beaucaire. “‘Castle Nowhere’ would have been so much better. Why did you not make him say it that way, monsieur?”

Lady Mary started; she was looking at the Duke, and her face was white. He continued: “Poor Captain Badger was stabbed that same day.–“

“Most befitting poor Captain Badger,” muttered Molyneux.

“—-And his adversary had the marvelous insolence to declare that he fought in my quarrel! This afternoon the wounded man sent for me, and imparted a very horrifying intelligence. He had discovered a lackey whom he had seen waiting upon Beaucaire in attendance at the door of this Chateaurien’s lodging. Beaucaire had disappeared the day before Chateaurien’s arrival. Captain Badger looked closely at Chateaurien at their next meeting, and identified him with the missing Beaucaire beyond the faintest doubt. Overcome with indignation, he immediately proclaimed the impostor. Out of regard for me, he did not charge him with being Beaucaire; the poor soul was unwilling to put upon me the humiliation of having introduced a barber; but the secret weighed upon him till he sent for me and put everything in my hands. I accepted the odium; thinking only of atonement. I went to Sir John Wimpledon’s. I took poor Sir Hugh, there, and these other gentlemen aside, and told them my news. We narrowly observed this man, and were shocked at our simplicity in not having discovered him before. These are men of honor and cool judgment, madam. Mr. Molyneux had acted for him in the affair of Captain Badger, and was strongly prejudiced in his favor; but Mr. Molyneux, Sir Hugh, Mr. Bantison, every one of them, in short, recognized him. In spite of his smooth face and his light hair, the adventurer Beaucaire was writ upon him amazing plain. Look at him, madam, if he will dare the inspection. You saw this Beaucaire well, the day of his expulsion from the rooms. Is not this he?”

M. Beaucaire stepped close to her. Her pale face twitched.

“Look!” he said.

“Oh, oh!” she whispered with a dry throat, and fell back in the carriage.

“Is it so?” cried the Duke.

“I do not know.–I–cannot tell.”

“One moment more. I begged these gentlemen to allow me to wipe out the insult I had unhappily offered to Bath, but particularly to you. They agreed not to forestall me or to interfere. I left Sir John Wimpledon’s early, and arranged to give the sorry rascal a lashing under your own eyes, a satisfaction due the lady into whose presence he had dared to force himself.”

“‘Noblesse oblige’?” said M. Beaucaire in a tone of gentle inquiry.

“And now, madam,” said the Duke, “I will detain you not one second longer. I plead the good purpose of my intentions, begging you to believe that the desire to avenge a hateful outrage, next to the wish to serve you, forms the dearest motive in the heart of Winterset.”

“Bravo!” cried Beaucaire softly.

Lady Mary leaned toward him, a thriving terror in her eyes. “It is false?” she faltered.

“Monsieur should not have been born so high. He could have made little book’.”

“You mean it is false?” she cried breathlessly.

“‘Od’s blood, is she not convinced?” broke out Mr. Bantison. “Fellow, were you not the ambassador’s barber?”

“It is all false?” she whispered.

“The mos’ fine art, mademoiselle. How long you think it take M. de Winterset to learn that speech after he write it out? It is a mix of what is true and the mos’ chaste art. Monsieur has become a man of letters. Perhaps he may enjoy that more than the wars. Ha, ha!”

Mr. Bantison burst into a roar of laughter. “Do French gentlemen fight lackeys? Ho, ho, ho! A pretty country! We English do as was done to-night, have our servants beat them.”

“And attend ourselves,” added M. Beaucaire, looking at the Duke, “somewhat in the background? But, pardon,” he mocked, “that remind’ me. Francois, return to Mr. Bantison and these gentlemen their weapons.”