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“My warmest felicitations,” said the Marquis. “There is no longer need for your incognito.”

“Thou best of masters!” said Beaucaire, touching him fondly on the shoulder. “I know. Your courier came safely. And so I am forgiven! But I forget.” He turned to the lady. She had begun to tremble exceedingly. “Faires’ of all the English fair,” he said, as the gentlemen bowed low to her deep courtesy, “I beg the honor to presen’ to Lady Mary Carlisle, M. le Comte de Beaujolais. M. de Mirepoix has already the honor. Lady Mary has been very kind to me, my frien’s; you mus’ help me make my acknowledgment. Mademoiselle and gentlemen, will you give me that favour to detain you one instan’?”

“Henri,” he turned to the young Beaujolais, “I wish you had shared my masque–I have been so gay!” The surface of his tone was merry, but there was an undercurrent, weary–sad, to speak of what was the mood, not the manner. He made the effect of addressing every one present, but he looked steadily at Lady Mary. Her eyes were fixed upon him, with a silent and frightened fascination, and she trembled more and more. “I am a great actor, Henri. These gentlemen are yet scarce convince’ I am not a lackey! And I mus’ tell you that I was jus’ now to be expelled for having been a barber!”

“Oh, no!” the ambassador cried out. “He would not be content with me; he would wander over a strange country.”

“Ha, ha, my Mirepoix! And what is better, one evening I am oblige’ to fight some frien’s of M. de Winterset there, and some ladies and cavaliers look on, and they still think me a servant. Oh, I am a great actor! ‘Tis true there is not a peasant in France who would not have then known one ‘born’; but they are wonderful, this English people, holding by an idea once it is in their heads–a mos’ worthy quality. But my good Molyneux here, he had speak to me with courtesy, jus’ because I am a man an’ jus’ because he is always kind. (I have learn’ that his great-grandfather was a Frenchman.) So I sen’ to him and tell him ev’rything, and he gain admittance for me here to-night to await my frien’s.

“I was speaking to messieurs about my cousin, who will meddle in the affair’ of his relatives. Well, that gentleman, he make a marriage for me with a good and accomplish’ lady, very noble and very beautiful–and amiable.” (The young count at his elbow started slightly at this, but immediately appeared to wrap himself in a mantle of solemn thought.) “Unfortunately, when my cousin arrange’ so, I was a dolt, a little blockhead; I swear to marry for myself and when I please, or never if I like. That lady is all things charming and gentle, and, in truth, she is–very much attach’ to me–why should I not say it? I am so proud of it. She is very faithful and forgiving and sweet; she would be the same, I think, if I–were even–a lackey. But I? I was a dolt, a little unsensible brute; I did not value such thing’ then; I was too yo’ng, las’ June. So I say to my cousin, ‘No, I make my own choosing!’ ‘Little fool,’ he answer, ‘she is the one for you. Am I not wiser than you?’ And he was very angry, and, as he has influence in France, word come’ that he will get me put in Vincennes, so I mus’ run away quick till his anger is gone. My good frien’ Mirepoix is jus’ leaving for London; he take’ many risk’ for my sake; his hairdresser die before he start’, so I travel as that poor barber. But my cousin is a man to be afraid of when he is angry, even in England, and I mus’ not get my Mirepoix in trouble. I mus’ not be discover’ till my cousin is ready to laugh about it all and make it a joke. And there may be spies; so I change my name again, and come to Bath to amuse my retreat with a little gaming–I am always fond of that. But three day’ ago M. le Marquis send me a courier to say that my brother, who know where I had run away, is come from France to say that my cousin is appease’; he need me for his little theatre, the play cannot go on. I do not need to espouse mademoiselle. All shall be forgiven if I return, and my brother and M. de Mirepoix will meet me in Bath to felicitate.