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She did not even look at him. M. Beaucaire lifted his hand appealingly toward her. “Can there be no faith in–in–he said timidly, and paused. She was silent, a statue, my Lady Disdain.

“If you had not belief’ me to be an impostor; if I had never said I was Chateaurien; if I had been jus’ that Monsieur Beaucaire of the story they tol’ you, but never with the heart of a lackey, an hones’ man, a man, the man you knew, himself, could you–would you–” He was trying to speak firmly; yet, as he gazed upon her splendid beauty, he choked slightly, and fumbled in the lace at his throat with unsteady fingers.–“Would you–have let me ride by your side in the autumn moonlight?” Her glance passed by him as it might have passed by a footman or a piece of furniture. He was dressed magnificently, a multitude of orders glittering on his breast. Her eye took no knowledge of him.

“Mademoiselle-I have the honor to ask you: if you had known this Beaucaire was hones’, though of peasant birth, would you–“

Involuntarily, controlled as her icy presence was, she shuddered. There was a moment of silence.

“Mr. Molyneux,” said Lady Mary, “in spite of your discourtesy in allowing a servant to address me, I offer you a last chance to leave this room undisgraced. Will you give me your arm?”

“Pardon me, madam,” said Mr. Molyneux.

Beaucaire dropped into a chair with his head bent low and his arm outstretched on the table; his eyes filled slowly in spite of himself, and two tears rolled down the young man’s cheeks.

“An’ live men are jus’–names!” said M. Beaucaire.

Chapter Six

In the outer room, Winterset, unable to find Lady Mary, and supposing her to have joined Lady Rellerton, disposed of his negus, then approached the two visitors to pay his respects to the young prince, whom he discovered to be a stripling of seventeen, arrogant looking, but pretty as a girl. Standing beside the Marquis de Mirepoix–a man of quiet bearing–he was surrounded by a group of the great, among whom Mr. Nash naturally counted himself. The Beau was felicitating himself that the foreigners had not arrived a week earlier, in which case he and Bath would have been detected in a piece of gross ignorance concerning the French nobility–making much of de Mirepoix’s ex-barber.

“‘Tis a lucky thing that fellow was got out of the way,” he ejaculated, under cover.

“Thank me for it,” rejoined Winterset.

An attendant begged Mr. Nash’s notice. The head bailiff sent word that Beaucaire had long since entered the building by a side door. It was supposed Mr. Nash had known of it, and the Frenchman was not arrested, as Mr. Molyneux was in his company, and said he would be answerable for him. Consternation was so plain on the Beau’s trained face that the Duke leaned toward him anxiously.

“The villain’s in, and Molyneux hath gone mad!”

Mr. Bantison, who had been fiercely elbowing his way toward them, joined heads with them. “You may well say he is in,” he exclaimed “and if you want to know where, why, in yonder card-room. I saw him through the half-open door.”

“What’s to be done?” asked the Beau.

“Send the bailiffs–“

“Fie, fie! A file of bailiffs? The scandal!”

“Then listen to me,” said the Duke. “I’ll select half-a-dozen gentlemen, explain the matter, and we’ll put him in the center of us and take him out to the bailiffs. ‘Twill appear nothing. Do you remain here and keep the attention of Beaujolais and de Mirepoix. Come, Bantison, fetch Townbrake and Harry Rakell yonder; I’ll bring the others.”

Three minutes later, his Grace of Winterset flung wide the card-room door, and, after his friends had entered, closed it.

“Ah!” remarked M. Beaucaire quietly. “Six more large men.”

The Duke, seeing Lady Mary, started; but the angry signs of her interview had not left her face, and reassured him. He offered his hand to conduct her to the door. “May I have the honor?”