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diff --git a/1983-h/1983-h.htm b/1983-h/1983-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..da86722 --- /dev/null +++ b/1983-h/1983-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2376 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Monsieur Beaucaire, by Booth Tarkington + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Monsieur Beaucaire, by Booth Tarkington + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Monsieur Beaucaire + +Author: Booth Tarkington + +Release Date: February 25, 2006 [EBook #1983] +Last Updated: March 3, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONSIEUR BEAUCAIRE *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + MONSIEUR BEAUCAIRE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Booth Tarkington + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter One </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter Two </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter Three </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter Four </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter Five </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter Six </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Chapter One + </h2> + <p> + The young Frenchman did very well what he had planned to do. His guess + that the Duke would cheat proved good. As the unshod half-dozen figures + that had been standing noiselessly in the entryway stole softly into the + shadows of the chamber, he leaned across the table and smilingly plucked a + card out of the big Englishman's sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Merci, M. le Duc!” he laughed, rising and stepping back from the table. + </p> + <p> + The Englishman cried out, “It means the dirty work of silencing you with + my bare hands!” and came at him. + </p> + <p> + “Do not move,” said M. Beaucaire, so sharply that the other paused. + “Observe behind you.” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman turned, and saw what trap he had blundered into; then stood + transfixed, impotent, alternately scarlet with rage and white with the + vital shame of discovery. M. Beaucaire remarked, indicating the silent + figures by a polite wave of the hand, “Is it not a compliment to monsieur + that I procure six large men to subdue him? They are quite devote' to me, + and monsieur is alone. Could it be that he did not wish even his lackeys + to know he play with the yo'ng Frenchman who Meestaire Nash does not like + in the pomp-room? Monsieur is unfortunate to have come on foot and alone + to my apartment.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke's mouth foamed over with chaotic revilement. His captor smiled + brightly, and made a slight gesture, as one who brushes aside a boisterous + insect. With the same motion he quelled to stony quiet a resentful impetus + of his servants toward the Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “It's murder, is it, you carrion!” finished the Duke. + </p> + <p> + M. Beaucaire lifted his shoulders in a mock shiver. “What words! No, no, + no! No killing! A such word to a such host! No, no, not mur-r-der; only + disgrace!” He laughed a clear, light laugh with a rising inflection, + seeming to launch himself upon an adventurous quest for sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “You little devilish scullion!” spat out the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut! But I forget. Monsieur has pursue' his studies of deportment + amongs' his fellow-countrymen. + </p> + <p> + “Do you dream a soul in Bath will take your word that I—that I—” + </p> + <p> + “That M. le Duc de Winterset had a card up his sleeve?” + </p> + <p> + “You pitiful stroller, you stableboy, born in a stable—” + </p> + <p> + “Is it not an honor to be born where monsieur must have been bred?” + </p> + <p> + “You scurvy foot-boy, you greasy barber, you cutthroat groom—” + </p> + <p> + “Overwhelm'!” The young man bowed with imperturbable elation. “M. le Duc + appoint' me to all the office' of his househol'.” + </p> + <p> + “You mustachioed fool, there are not five people of quality in Bath will + speak to you—” + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur, not on the parade; but how many come to play with me here? + Because I will play always, night or day, for what one will, for any long, + and always fair, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “You outrageous varlet! Every one knows you came to England as the French + Ambassador's barber. What man of fashion will listen to you? Who will + believe you?” + </p> + <p> + “All people, monsieur. Do you think I have not calculate', that I shall + make a failure of my little enterprise?” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” + </p> + <p> + “Will monsieur not reseat himself?” M. Beaucaire made a low bow. “So. We + must not be too tire' for Lady Malbourne's rout. Ha, ha! And you, Jean, + Victor, and you others, retire; go in the hallway. Attend at the entrance, + Francois. So; now we shall talk. Monsieur, I wish you to think very cool. + Then listen; I will be briefly. It is that I am well known to be all, + entire' hones'. Gamblist? Ah, yes; true and mos profitable; but fair, + always fair; every one say that. Is it not so? Think of it. And—is + there never a w'isper come to M. le Duc that not all people belief him to + play always hones'? Ha, ha! Did it almos' be said to him las' year, after + when he play' with Milor' Tappin'ford at the chocolate-house—” + </p> + <p> + “You dirty scandal-monger!” the Duke burst out. “I'll—” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, monsieur!” said the Frenchman. “It is a poor valor to insult a + helpless captor. Can he retort upon his own victim? But it is for you to + think of what I say. True, I am not reco'nize on the parade; that my + frien's who come here do not present me to their ladies; that Meestaire + Nash has reboff' me in the pomp-room; still, am I not known for being + hones' and fair in my play, and will I not be belief, even I, when I lif' + my voice and charge you aloud with what is already w'isper'? Think of it! + You are a noble, and there will be some hang-dogs who might not fall away + from you. Only such would be lef' to you. Do you want it tol'? And you can + keep out of France, monsieur? I have lef' his service, but I have still + the ear of M. de Mirepoix, and he know' I never lie. Not a gentleman will + play you when you come to Paris.” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman's white lip showed a row of scarlet dots upon it. “How much + do you want?” he said. + </p> + <p> + The room rang with the gay laughter of Beaucaire. “I hol' your note' for + seven-hunder' pound'. You can have them, monsieur. Why does a such great + man come to play M. Beaucaire? Because no one else willin' to play M. le + Duc—he cannot pay. Ha, ha! So he come' to good Monsieur Beaucaire. + Money, ha, ha! What I want with money?” + </p> + <p> + His Grace of Winterset's features were set awry to a sinister pattern. He + sat glaring at his companion in a snarling silence. + </p> + <p> + “Money? Pouf!” snapped the little gambler. “No, no, no! It is that M. le + Duc, impoverish', somewhat in a bad odor as he is, yet command the entree + any-where—onless I—Ha, ha! Eh, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! You dare think to force me—” + </p> + <p> + M. Beaucaire twirled the tip of his slender mustache around the end of his + white forefinger. Then he said: “Monsieur and me goin' to Lady Malbourne's + ball to-night—M. le Duc and me!” + </p> + <p> + The Englishman roared, “Curse your impudence!” + </p> + <p> + “Sit quiet. Oh, yes, that's all; we goin' together.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Certain. I make all my little plan'. 'Tis all arrange'.” He paused, and + then said gravely, “You goin' present me to Lady Mary Carlisle.” + </p> + <p> + The other laughed in utter scorn. “Lady Mary Carlisle, of all women alive, + would be the first to prefer the devil to a man of no birth, barber.” + </p> + <p> + “'Tis all arrange'; have no fear; nobody question monsieur's You goin' + take me to-night—” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And after—then I have the entree. Is it much I ask? This one + little favor, and I never w'isper, never breathe that—it is to say, + I am always forever silent of monsieur's misfortune.” + </p> + <p> + “You have the entree!” sneered the other. “Go to a lackeys' rout and dance + with the kitchen maids. If I would, I could not present you to Bath + society. I should have cartels from the fathers, brothers, and lovers of + every wench and madam in the place, even I. You would be thrust from Lady + Malbourne's door five minutes after you entered it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Half the gentlemen in Bath have been here to play. They would know you, + wouldn't they, fool? You've had thousands out of Bantison, Rakell, + Guilford, and Townbrake. They would have you lashed by the grooms as your + ugly deserts are. You to speak to Lady Mary Carlisle! 'Od's blood! You! + Also, dolt, she would know you if you escaped the others. She stood within + a yard of you when Nash expelled you the pump-room.” + </p> + <p> + M. Beaucaire flushed slightly. “You think I did not see?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Do you dream that' because Winterset introduces a low fellow he will be + tolerated—that Bath will receive a barber?” + </p> + <p> + “I have the distinction to call monsieur's attention,” replied the young + man gayly, “I have renounce that profession.” + </p> + <p> + “Fool!” + </p> + <p> + “I am now a man of honor!” + </p> + <p> + “Faugh!” + </p> + <p> + “A man of the parts,” continued the the young Frenchman, “and of + deportment; is it not so? Have you seen me of a fluster, or gross ever, + or, what sall I say—bourgeois? Shall you be shame' for your guest' + manner? No, no! And my appearance, is it of the people? Clearly, no. Do I + not compare in taste of apparel with your yo'ng Englishman? Ha, ha! To be + hope'. Ha, ha! So I am goin' talk with Lady Mary Carlisle.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” The Duke made a savage burlesque. “'Lady Mary Carlisle, may I + assume the honor of presenting the barber of the Marquis de Mirepoix?' So, + is it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur,” smiled the young man. “Quite not so. You shall have + nothing to worry you, nothing in the worl'. I am goin' to assassinate my + poor mustachio—also remove this horrible black peruke, and emerge in + my own hair. Behol'!” He swept the heavy curled, mass from his head as he + spoke, and his hair, coiled under the great wig, fell to his shoulders, + and sparkled yellow in the candle-light. He tossed his head to shake the + hair back from his cheeks. “When it is dress', I am transform nobody can + know me; you shall observe. See how little I ask of you, how very little + bit. No one shall reco'nize 'M. Beaucaire' or 'Victor.' Ha, ha! 'Tis all + arrange'; you have nothing to fear.” + </p> + <p> + “Curse you,” said the Duke, “do you think I'm going to be saddled with you + wherever I go as long as you choose?” + </p> + <p> + “A mistake. No. All I requi—All I beg—is this one evening. + 'Tis all shall be necessary. After, I shall not need monsieur. + </p> + <p> + “Take heed to yourself—after!” vouchsafed the Englishman between his + teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Conquered!” cried M. Beaucaire, and clapped his hands gleefully. + “Conquered for the night! Aha, it ts riz'nable! I shall meet what you send—after. + One cannot hope too much of your patience. It is but natural you should + attemp' a little avengement for the rascal trap I was such a wicked fellow + as to set for you. I shall meet some strange frien's of yours after + to-night; not so? I must try to be not too much frighten'.” He looked at + the Duke curiously. “You want to know why I create this tragedy, why I am + so unkind as to entrap monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + His Grace of Winterset replied with a chill glance; a pulse in the + nobleman's cheek beat less relentlessly; his eye raged not so bitterly; + the steady purple of his own color was returning; his voice was less + hoarse; he was regaining his habit. “'Tis ever the manner of the vulgar,” + he observed, “to wish to be seen with people of fashion.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no, no!” The Frenchman laughed. “'Tis not that. Am I not already + one of these 'men of fashion'? I lack only the reputation of birth. + Monsieur is goin' supply that. Ha, ha! I shall be noble from to-night. + 'Victor,' the artis', is condemn' to death; his throat shall be cut with + his own razor. 'M. Beaucaire—'” Here the young man sprang to his + feet, caught up the black wig, clapped into it a dice-box from the table, + and hurled it violently through the open door. “'M. Beaucaire' shall be + choke' with his own dice-box. Who is the Phoenix to remain? What advantage + have I not over other men of rank who are merely born to it? I may choose + my own. No! Choose for me, monsieur. Shall I be chevalier, comte, vicomte, + marquis, what? None. Out of compliment to monsieur can I wish to be + anything he is not? No, no! I shall be M. le Duc, M. le Duc de—de + Chateaurien. Ha, ha! You see? You are my confrere.” + </p> + <p> + M. Beaucaire trod a dainty step or two, waving his hand politely to the + Duke, as though in invitation to join the celebration of his rank. The + Englishman watched, his eye still and harsh, already gathering in + craftiness. Beaucaire stopped suddenly. “But how I forget my age! I am + twenty-three,” he said, with a sigh. “I rejoice too much to be of the + quality. It has been too great for me, and I had always belief' myself + free of such ambition. I thought it was enough to behol' the opera without + wishing to sing; but no, England have teach' me I have those vulgar + desire'. Monsieur, I am goin' tell you a secret: the ladies of your + country are very diff'runt than ours. One may adore the demoiselle, one + must worship the lady of England. Our ladies have the—it is the + beauty of youth; yours remain comely at thirty. Ours are flowers, yours + are stars! See, I betray myself, I am so poor a patriot. And there is one + among these stars—ah, yes, there is one—the poor Frenchman has + observe' from his humble distance; even there he could bask in the + glowing!” M. Beaucaire turned to the window, and looked out into the dark. + He did not see the lights of the town. When he turned again, he had half + forgotten his prisoner; other pictures were before him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, what radiance!” he cried. “Those people up over the sky, they want to + show they wish the earth to be happy, so they smile, and make this lady. + Gold-haired, an angel of heaven, and yet a Diana of the chase! I see her + fly by me on her great horse one day; she touch' his mane with her + fingers. I buy that clipping from the groom. I have it here with my dear + brother's picture. Ah, you! Oh, yes, you laugh! What do you know! 'Twas + all I could get. But I have heard of the endeavor of M. le Duc to recoup + his fortunes. This alliance shall fail. It is not the way—that + heritage shall be safe' from him! It is you and me, monsieur! You can + laugh! The war is open', and by me! There is one great step taken: until + to-night there was nothing for you to ruin, to-morrow you have got a noble + of France—your own protege—to besiege and sack. And you are to + lose, because you think such ruin easy, and because you understand nothing—far + less—of divinity. How could you know? You have not the fiber; the + heart of a lady is a blank to you; you know nothing of the vibration. + There are some words that were made only to tell of Lady Mary, for her + alone—bellissima, divine, glorieuse! Ah, how I have watch' her! It + is sad to me when I see her surround' by your yo'ng captains, your nobles, + your rattles, your beaux—ha, ha!—and I mus' hol' far aloof. It + is sad for me—but oh, jus' to watch her and to wonder! Strange it + is, but I have almos' cry out with rapture at a look I have see' her give + another man, so beautiful it was, so tender, so dazzling of the eyes and + so mirthful of the lips. Ah, divine coquetry! A look for another, ah-i-me! + for many others; and even to you, one day, a rose, while I—I, + monsieur, could not even be so blessed as to be the groun' beneath her + little shoe! But to-night, monsieur—ha, ha!—to-night, + monsieur, you and me, two princes, M. le Duc de Winterset and M. le Duc de + Chateaurien—ha, ha! you see?—we are goin' arm-in-arm to that + ball, and I am goin' have one of those looks, I! And a rose! I! It is + time. But ten minute', monsieur. I make my apology to keep you waitin' so + long while I go in the nex' room and execute my poor mustachio—that + will be my only murder for jus' this one evening—and inves' myself + in white satin. Ha, ha! I shall be very gran', monsieur. Francois, send + Louis to me; Victor, to order two chairs for monsieur and me; we are goin' + out in the worl' to-right!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Two + </h2> + <p> + The chairmen swarmed in the street at Lady Malbourne's door, where the + joyous vulgar fought with muddied footmen and tipsy link-boys for places + of vantage whence to catch a glimpse of quality and of raiment at its + utmost. Dawn was in the east, and the guests were departing. Singly or in + pairs, glittering in finery, they came mincing down the steps, the ghost + of the night's smirk fading to jadedness as they sought the dark recesses + of their chairs. From within sounded the twang of fiddles still swinging + manfully at it, and the windows were bright with the light of many + candles. When the door was flung open to call the chair of Lady Mary + Carlisle, there was an eager pressure of the throng to see. + </p> + <p> + A small, fair gentleman in white satin came out upon the steps, turned and + bowed before a lady who appeared in the doorway, a lady whose royal + loveliness was given to view for a moment in that glowing frame. The crowd + sent up a hearty English cheer for the Beauty of Bath. + </p> + <p> + The gentleman smiled upon them delightedly. “What enchanting people!” he + cried. “Why did I not know, so I might have shout' with them?” The lady + noticed the people not at all; whereat, being pleased, the people cheered + again. The gentleman offered her his hand; she made a slow courtesy; + placed the tips of her fingers upon his own. “I am honored, M. de + Chateaurien,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” he cried earnestly. “Behol' a poor Frenchman whom emperors + should envy.” Then reverently and with the pride of his gallant office + vibrant in every line of his slight figure, invested in white satin and + very grand, as he had prophesied, M. le Duc de Chateaurien handed Lady + Mary Carlisle down the steps, an achievement which had figured in the + ambitions of seven other gentlemen during the evening. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to be lef'in such onhappiness?” he said in a low voice. “That rose I + have beg' for so long—” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said Lady Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I do not deserve it, I know so well! But—” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” + </p> + <p> + “It is the greatness of my onworthiness that alone can claim your charity; + let your kin' heart give this little red rose, this great alms, to the + poor beggar.” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” + </p> + <p> + She was seated in the chair. “Ah, give the rose,” he whispered. Her beauty + shone dazzlingly on him out of the dimness. + </p> + <p> + “Never!” she flashed defiantly as she was closed in. “Never!” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” + </p> + <p> + The rose fell at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “A rose lasts till morning,” said a voice behind him. + </p> + <p> + Turning, M. de Chateaurien looked beamingly upon the face of the Duke of + Winterset. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis already the daylight,” he replied, pointing to the east. “Monsieur, + was it not enough honor for you to han' out madame, the aunt of Lady Mary? + Lady Rellerton retain much trace of beauty. 'Tis strange you did not + appear more happy.” + </p> + <p> + “The rose is of an unlucky color, I think,” observed the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “The color of a blush, my brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Unlucky, I still maintain,” said the other calmly. + </p> + <p> + “The color of the veins of a Frenchman. Ha, ha!” cried the young man. + “What price would be too high? A rose is a rose! A good-night, my brother, + a good-night. I wish you dreams of roses, red roses, only beautiful red, + red roses!” + </p> + <p> + “Stay! Did you see the look she gave these street folk when they shouted + for her? And how are you higher than they, when she knows? As high as + yonder horse-boy!” + </p> + <p> + “Red roses, my brother, only roses. I wish you dreams of red, red roses!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Three + </h2> + <p> + It was well agreed by the fashion of Bath that M. le Duc de Chateaurien + was a person of sensibility and haut ton; that his retinue and equipage + surpassed in elegance; that his person was exquisite, his manner engaging. + In the company of gentlemen his ease was slightly tinged with graciousness + (his single equal in Bath being his Grace of Winterset); but it was + remarked that when he bowed over a lady's hand, his air bespoke only a gay + and tender reverence. + </p> + <p> + He was the idol of the dowagers within a week after his appearance; + matrons warmed to him; young belles looked sweetly on him, while the + gentlemen were won to admiration or envy. He was of prodigious wealth: old + Mr. Bicksit, who dared not, for his fame's sake, fail to have seen all + things, had visited Chateaurien under the present Duke's father, and + descanted to the curious upon its grandeurs. The young noble had one + fault, he was so poor a gambler. He cared nothing for the hazards of a die + or the turn of a card. Gayly admitting that he had been born with no + spirit of adventure in him, he was sure, he declared, that he failed of + much happiness by his lack of taste in such matters. + </p> + <p> + But he was not long wanting the occasion to prove his taste in the matter + of handling a weapon. A certain led-captain, Rohrer by name, notorious, + amongst other things, for bearing a dexterous and bloodthirsty blade, came + to Bath post-haste, one night, and jostled heartily against him, in the + pump-room on the following morning. M. de Chauteaurien bowed, and turned + aside without offense, continuing a conversation with some gentlemen near + by. Captain Rohrer jostled against him a second time. M. de Chateaurien + looked him in the eye, and apologized pleasantly for being so much in the + way. Thereupon Rohrer procured an introduction to him, and made some + observations derogatory to the valor and virtue of the French. There was + current a curious piece of gossip of the French court: a prince of the + blood royal, grandson of the late Regent and second in the line of + succession to the throne of France, had rebelled against the authority of + Louis XV, who had commanded him to marry the Princess Henriette, cousin to + both of them. The princess was reported to be openly devoted to the cousin + who refused to accept her hand at the bidding of the king; and, as rumor + ran, the prince's caprice elected in preference the discipline of + Vincennes, to which retirement the furious king had consigned him. The + story was the staple gossip of all polite Europe; and Captain Rohrer, + having in his mind a purpose to make use of it in leading up to a + statement that should be general to the damage of all Frenchwomen, and + which a Frenchman might not pass over as he might a jog of the elbow, + repeated it with garbled truths to make a scandal of a story which bore + none on a plain relation. + </p> + <p> + He did not reach his deduction. M. de Chateaurien, breaking into his + narrative, addressed him very quietly. “Monsieur,” he said, “none but + swine deny the nobleness of that good and gentle lady, Mademoiselle la + Princesse de Bourbon-Conti. Every Frenchman know' that her cousin is a bad + rebel and ingrate, who had only honor and rispec' for her, but was so + wilful he could not let even the king say, 'You shall marry here, you + shall marry there.' My frien's,” the young man turned to the others, “may + I ask you to close roun' in a circle for one moment? It is clearly shown + that the Duke of Orleans is a scurvy fellow, but not—” he wheeled + about and touched Captain Rohrer on the brow with the back of his gloved + hand—“but not so scurvy as thou, thou swine of the gutter!” + </p> + <p> + Two hours later, with perfect ease, he ran Captain Rohrer through the left + shoulder—after which he sent a basket of red roses to the Duke of + Winterset. In a few days he had another captain to fight. This was a + ruffling buck who had the astounding indiscretion to proclaim M. de + Chateaurien an impostor. There was no Chateaurien, he swore. The Frenchman + laughed in his face, and, at twilight of the same day, pinked him + carefully through the right shoulder. It was not that he could not put + aside the insult to himself, he declared to Mr. Molyneux, his second, and + the few witnesses, as he handed his wet sword to his lackey—one of + his station could not be insulted by a doubt of that station—but he + fought in the quarrel of his friend Winterset. This rascal had asserted + that M. le Duc had introduced an impostor. Could he overlook the insult to + a friend, one to whom he owed his kind reception in Bath? Then, bending + over his fallen adversary, he whispered: “Naughty man, tell your master + find some better quarrel for the nex' he sen' agains' me.” + </p> + <p> + The conduct of M. de Chateaurien was pronounced admirable. + </p> + <p> + There was no surprise when the young foreigner fell naturally into the + long train of followers of the beautiful Lady Mary Carlisle, nor was there + great astonishment that he should obtain marked favor in her eyes, shown + so plainly that my Lord Townbrake, Sir Hugh Guilford, and the rich Squire + Bantison, all of whom had followed her through three seasons, swore with + rage, and his Grace of Winterset stalked from her aunt's house with black + brows. + </p> + <p> + Meeting the Duke there on the evening after his second encounter de + Chateaurien smiled upon him brilliantly. “It was badly done; oh, so + badly!” he whispered. “Can you afford to have me strip' of my mask by any + but yourself? You, who introduce' me? They will say there is some bad + scandal that I could force you to be my god-father. You mus' get the + courage yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I told you a rose had a short life,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, those roses! 'Tis the very greates' rizzon to gather each day a fresh + one.” He took a red bud from his breast for an instant, and touched it to + his lips. + </p> + <p> + “M. de Chateaurien!” It was Lady Mary's voice; she stood at a table where + a vacant place had been left beside her. “M. de Chateaurien, we have been + waiting very long for you.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke saw the look she did not know she gave the Frenchman, and he lost + countenance for a moment. + </p> + <p> + “We approach a climax, eh, monsieur?” said M. de Chateaurien. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Four + </h2> + <p> + There fell a clear September night, when the moon was radiant over town + and country, over cobbled streets and winding roads. From the fields the + mists rose slowly, and the air was mild and fragrant, while distances were + white and full of mystery. All of Bath that pretended to fashion or + condition was present that evening at a fete at the house of a country + gentleman of the neighborhood. When the stately junket was concluded, it + was the pleasure of M. de Chateaurien to form one of the escort of Lady + Mary's carriage for the return. As they took the road, Sir Hugh Guilford + and Mr. Bantison, engaging in indistinct but vigorous remonstrance with + Mr. Molyneux over some matter, fell fifty or more paces behind, where they + continued to ride, keeping up their argument. Half a dozen other gallants + rode in advance, muttering among themselves, or attended laxly upon Lady + Mary's aunt on the other side of the coach, while the happy Frenchman was + permitted to ride close to that adorable window which framed the fairest + face in England. + </p> + <p> + He sang for her a little French song, a song of the voyageur who dreamed + of home. The lady, listening, looking up at the bright moon, felt a warm + drop upon her cheek, and he saw the tears sparkling upon her lashes. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle,” he whispered then, “I, too, have been a wanderer, but my + dreams were not of France; no, I do not dream of that home, of that dear + country. It is of a dearer country, a dream country—a country of + gold and snow,” he cried softly, looking it her white brow and the fair, + lightly powdered hair above it. “Gold and snow, and the blue sky of a + lady's eyes!” + </p> + <p> + “I had thought the ladies of France were dark, sir. + </p> + <p> + “Cruel! It is that she will not understan'! Have I speak of the ladies of + France? No, no, no! It is of the faires' country; yes, 'tis a province of + heaven, mademoiselle. Do I not renounce my allegiance to France? Oh, yes! + I am subjec'—no, content to be slave—in the lan' of the blue + sky, the gold, and the snow. + </p> + <p> + “A very pretty figure,” answered Lady Mary, her eyes downcast. “But does + it not hint a notable experience in the making of such speeches?” + </p> + <p> + “Tormentress! No. It prove only the inspiration it is to know you.” + </p> + <p> + “We English ladies hear plenty of the like sir; and we even grow brilliant + enough to detect the assurance that lies beneath the courtesies of our own + gallants.” + </p> + <p> + “Merci! I should believe so!” ejaculated M. de Chateaurien: but he + smothered the words upon his lips. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes were not lifted. She went on: “We come, in time, to believe that + true feeling comes faltering forth, not glibly; that smoothness betokens + the adept in the art, sir, rather than your true—your true—” + She was herself faltering; more, blushing deeply, and halting to a full + stop in terror of a word. There was a silence. + </p> + <p> + “Your—true—lover,” he said huskily. When he had said that word + both trembled. She turned half away into the darkness of the coach. + </p> + <p> + “I know what make' you to doubt me,” he said, faltering himself, though it + was not his art that prompted him. “They have tol' you the French do + nothing always but make love, is it not so? Yes, you think I am like that. + You think I am like that now!” + </p> + <p> + She made no sign. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” he sighed, “I am unriz'nable; I would have the snow not so + col'—for jus' me.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Turn to me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The fragrance of the fields came to them, and from the distance the faint, + clear note of a hunting-horn. + </p> + <p> + “Turn to me.” + </p> + <p> + The lovely head was bent very low. Her little gloved hand lay upon the + narrow window ledge. He laid his own gently upon it. The two hands were + shaking like twin leaves in the breeze. Hers was not drawn away. After a + pause, neither knew how long, he felt the warm fingers turn and clasp + themselves tremulously about his own. At last she looked up bravely and + met his eyes. The horn was wound again—nearer. + </p> + <p> + “All the cold was gone from the snows—long ago,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “My beautiful!” he whispered; it was all he could say. “My beautiful!” But + she clutched his arm, startled. + </p> + <p> + “'Ware the road!” A wild halloo sounded ahead. The horn wound loudly. + “'Ware the road!” There sprang up out of the night a flying thunder of + hoof-beats. The gentlemen riding idly in front of the coach scattered to + the hedge-sides; and, with drawn swords flashing in the moon, a party of + horsemen charged down the highway, their cries blasting the night. + </p> + <p> + “Barber! Kill the barber!” they screamed. “Barber! Kill the barber!” + </p> + <p> + Beaucaire had but time to draw his sword when they were upon him. + </p> + <p> + “A moi!” his voice rang out clearly as he rose in his stirrups. “A moi, + Francois, Louis, Berquin! A moi, Francois!” + </p> + <p> + The cavaliers came straight at him. He parried the thrust of the first, + but the shock of collision hurled his horse against the side of the coach. + “Sacred swine!” he cried bitterly. “To endanger a lady, to make this brawl + in a lady's presence! Drive on!” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + “No!” cried Lady Mary. + </p> + <p> + The Frenchman's assailants were masked, but they were not highwaymen. + “Barber! Barber!” they shouted hoarsely, and closed in on him in a circle. + </p> + <p> + “See how he use his steel!” laughed M. Beaucaire, as his point passed + through a tawdry waistcoat. For a moment he cut through the ring and + cleared a space about him, and Lady Mary saw his face shining in the + moonlight. “Canaille!” he hissed, as his horse sank beneath him; and, + though guarding his head from the rain of blows from above, he managed to + drag headlong from his saddle the man who had hamstrung the poor brute. + The fellow came suddenly to the ground, and lay there. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not a compliment,” said a heavy voice, “to bring six large men to + subdue monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you are there, my frien'! In the rear—a little in the rear, I + think. Ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + The Frenchman's play with his weapon was a revelation of skill, the more + extraordinary as he held in his hand only a light dress sword. But the + ring closed about him, and his keen defense could not avail him for more + than a few moments. Lady Mary's outriders, the gallants of her escort, + rode up close to the coach and encircled it, not interfering. + </p> + <p> + “Sir Hugh Guilford!” cried Lady Mary wildly, “if you will not help him, + give me your sword!” She would have leaped to the ground, but Sir Hugh + held the door. + </p> + <p> + “Sit quiet, madam,” he said to her; then, to the man on the box, “Drive + on.” + </p> + <p> + “If he does, I'll kill him!” she said fiercely. “Ah, what cowards! Will + you see the Duke murdered?” + </p> + <p> + “The Duke!” laughed Guilford. “They will not kill him, unless—be + easy, dear madam, 'twill be explained. Gad's life!” he muttered to + Molyneux, “'Twere time the varlet had his lashing! D'ye hear her?” + </p> + <p> + “Barber or no barber,” answered Molyneux, “I wish I had warned him. He + fights as few gentlemen could. Ah—ah! Look at that! 'Tis a shame!” + </p> + <p> + On foot, his hat gone, his white coat sadly rent and gashed, flecked, too, + with red, M. Beaucaire, wary, alert, brilliant, seemed to transform + himself into a dozen fencing-masters; and, though his skill appeared to + lie in delicacy and quickness, his play being continually with the point, + sheer strength failed to beat him down. The young man was laughing like a + child. + </p> + <p> + “Believe me,” said Molyneux “he's no barber! No, and never was!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment there was even a chance that M. Beaucaire might have the best + of it. Two of his adversaries were prostrate, more than one were groaning, + and the indomitable Frenchman had actually almost beat off the ruffians, + when, by a trick, he was overcome. One of them, dismounting, ran in + suddenly from behind, and seized his blade in a thick leather gauntlet. + Before Beaucaire could disengage the weapon, two others threw themselves + from their horses and hurled him to the earth. “A moi! A moi, Francois!” + he cried as he went down, his sword in fragments, but his voice unbroken + and clear. + </p> + <p> + “Shame!” muttered one or two of the gentlemen about the coach. + </p> + <p> + “'Twas dastardly to take him so,” said Molyneux. “Whatever his deservings, + I'm nigh of a mind to offer him a rescue in the Duke's face.” + </p> + <p> + “Truss him up, lads,” said the heavy voice. “Clear the way in front of the + coach. There sit those whom we avenge upon a presumptuous lackey. Now, + Whiffen, you have a fair audience, lay on and baste him.” + </p> + <p> + Two men began to drag M. Beaucaire toward a great oak by the roadside. + Another took from his saddle a heavy whip with three thongs. + </p> + <p> + “A moi, Francois!” + </p> + <p> + There was borne on the breeze an answer—“Monseigneur! Monseigneur!” + The cry grew louder suddenly. The clatter of hoofs urged to an anguish of + speed sounded on the night. M. Beaucaire's servants had lagged sorely + behind, but they made up for it now. Almost before the noise of their own + steeds they came riding down the moonlit aisle between the mists. Chosen + men, these servants of Beaucaire, and like a thunderbolt they fell upon + the astounded cavaliers. + </p> + <p> + “Chateaurien! Chateaurien!” they shouted, and smote so swiftly that, + through lack of time, they showed no proper judgment, discriminating + nothing between non-combatants and their master's foes. They charged first + into the group about M. Beaucaire, and broke and routed it utterly. Two of + them leaped to the young man's side, while the other four, swerving, + scarce losing the momentum of their onset, bore on upon the gentlemen near + the coach, who went down beneath the fierceness of the onslaught, cursing + manfully. + </p> + <p> + “Our just deserts,” said Mr. Molyneux, his mouth full of dust and + philosophy. + </p> + <p> + Sir Hugh Guilford's horse fell with him, being literally ridden over, and + the baronet's leg was pinned under the saddle. In less than ten minutes + from the first attack on M. Beaucaire, the attacking party had fled in + disorder, and the patrician non-combatants, choking with expletives, + consumed with wrath, were prisoners, disarmed by the Frenchman's lackeys. + </p> + <p> + Guilford's discomfiture had freed the doors of the coach; so it was that + when M. Beaucaire, struggling to rise, assisted by his servants, threw out + one hand to balance himself, he found it seized between two small, cold + palms, and he looked into two warm, dilating eyes, that were doubly + beautiful because of the fright and rage that found room in them, too. + </p> + <p> + M. le Duc Chateaurien sprang to his feet without the aid of his lackeys, + and bowed low before Lady Mary. + </p> + <p> + “I make ten thousan' apology to be' the cause of a such melee in your + presence,” he said; and then, turning to Francois, he spoke in French: + “Ah, thou scoundrel! A little, and it had been too late.” + </p> + <p> + Francois knelt in the dust before him. “Pardon!” he said. “Monseigneur + commanded us to follow far in the rear, to remain unobserved. The wind + malignantly blew against monseigneur's voice.” + </p> + <p> + “See what it might have cost, my children,” said his master, pointing to + the ropes with which they would have bound him and to the whip lying + beside them. A shudder passed over the lackey's frame; the utter horror in + his face echoed in the eyes of his fellows. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, monseigneur!” Francois sprang back, and tossed his arms to heaven. + </p> + <p> + “But it did not happen,” said M. Beaucaire. + </p> + <p> + “It could not!” exclaimed Francois. + </p> + <p> + “No. And you did very well, my children—” the young man smiled + benevolently—“very well. And now,” he continued, turning to Lady + Mary and speaking in English, “let me be asking of our gallants yonder + what make' them to be in cabal with highwaymen. One should come to a + polite understanding with them, you think? Not so?” + </p> + <p> + He bowed, offering his hand to conduct her to the coach, where Molyneux + and his companions, having drawn Sir Hugh from under his horse, were + engaged in reviving and reassuring Lady Rellerton, who had fainted. But + Lady Mary stayed Beaucaire with a gesture, and the two stood where they + were. + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur!” she said, with a note of raillery in her voice, but + raillery so tender that he started with happiness. His movement brought + him a hot spasm of pain, and he clapped his hand to a red stain on his + waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + “You are hurt!” + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing,” smiled M. Beaucaire. Then, that she might not see the + stain spreading, he held his handkerchief over the spot. “I am a little—but + jus' a trifling—bruise'; 'tis all.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall ride in the coach,” she whispered. “Will you be pleased, M. de + Chateaurien?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my beautiful!” She seemed to wave before him like a shining mist. “I + wish that ride might las' for always! Can you say that, mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “Monseigneur,” she cried in a passion of admiration, “I would what you + would have be, should be. What do you not deserve? You are the bravest man + in the world!” + </p> + <p> + “Ha, ha! I am jus' a poor Frenchman.” + </p> + <p> + “Would that a few Englishmen had shown themselves as 'poor' tonight. The + vile cowards, not to help you!” With that, suddenly possessed by her + anger, she swept away from him to the coach. + </p> + <p> + Sir Hugh, groaning loudly, was being assisted into the vehicle. + </p> + <p> + “My little poltroons,” she said, “what are you doing with your + fellow-craven, Sir Hugh Guilford, there?” + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” replied Molyneux humbly, “Sir Hugh's leg is broken. Lady + Rellerton graciously permits him to be taken in.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not permit it! M. de Chateaurien rides with us.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “Sir! Leave the wretch to groan by the roadside,” she cried fiercely, + “which plight I would were that of all of you! But there will be a pretty + story for the gossips to-morrow! And I could almost find pity for you when + I think of the wits when you return to town. Fine gentlemen you; hardy + bravos, by heaven! to leave one man to meet a troop of horse + single-handed, while you huddle in shelter until you are overthrown and + disarmed by servants! Oh, the wits! Heaven save you from the wits!” + </p> + <p> + “Madam.” + </p> + <p> + “Address me no more! M. de Chateaurien, Lady Rellerton and I will greatly + esteem the honor of your company. Will you come?” + </p> + <p> + She stepped quickly into the coach, and was gathering her skirts to make + room for the Frenchman, when a heavy voice spoke from the shadows of the + tree by the wayside. + </p> + <p> + “Lady Mary Carlisle will, no doubt, listen to a word of counsel on this + point.” + </p> + <p> + The Duke of Winterset rode out into the moonlight, composedly untieing a + mask from about his head. He had not shared the flight of his followers, + but had retired into the shade of the oak, whence he now made his presence + known with the utmost coolness. + </p> + <p> + “Gracious heavens, 'tis Winterset!” exclaimed Lady Rellerton. + </p> + <p> + “Turned highwayman and cut-throat,” cried Lady Mary. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “M. de Chateaurien,” said Lady Mary, “we are waiting for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon,” he replied. “He has something to say; maybe it is bes' if you + hear it now.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to hear nothing from him—ever!” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “I'll hear no more!” + </p> + <p> + “You will bitterly repent it, madam. For your own sake I entreat—” + </p> + <p> + “And I also,” broke in M. Beaucaire. “Permit me, mademoiselle; let him + speak.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “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—” + </p> + <p> + “Sir, sir, my patience will bear little more!” + </p> + <p> + “A thousan' apology,” said M. Beaucaire. “You will listen, I only beg, + Lady Mary?” + </p> + <p> + She made an angry gesture of assent. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Is your farrago nigh done, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “The shame, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon,” interrupted M. Beaucaire. “'Castle Nowhere' would have been so + much better. Why did you not make him say it that way, monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + Lady Mary started; she was looking at the Duke, and her face was white. He + continued: “Poor Captain Badger was stabbed that same day.—” + </p> + <p> + “Most befitting poor Captain Badger,” muttered Molyneux. + </p> + <p> + “——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?” + </p> + <p> + M. Beaucaire stepped close to her. Her pale face twitched. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh!” she whispered with a dry throat, and fell back in the carriage. + </p> + <p> + “Is it so?” cried the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know.—I—cannot tell.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “'Noblesse oblige'?” said M. Beaucaire in a tone of gentle inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” cried Beaucaire softly. + </p> + <p> + Lady Mary leaned toward him, a thriving terror in her eyes. “It is false?” + she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur should not have been born so high. He could have made little + book'.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean it is false?” she cried breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “'Od's blood, is she not convinced?” broke out Mr. Bantison. “Fellow, were + you not the ambassador's barber?” + </p> + <p> + “It is all false?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you answer a question?” said Molyneux mildly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, with pleasure, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you ever a barber?” + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur,” laughed the young man. + </p> + <p> + “Pah!” exclaimed Bantison. “Let me question him. Now, fellow, a confession + may save you from jail. Do you deny you are Beaucaire?” + </p> + <p> + “Deny to a such judge?” + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” said Bantison. “What more do you want, Molyneux? Fellow, do you deny + that you came to London in the ambassador's suite?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not deny.” + </p> + <p> + “He admits it! Didn't you come as his barber?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my frien', as his barber.” Lady Mary cried out faintly, and, + shuddering, put both hands over her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” said Molyneux. “You fight like a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “I thank you, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “You called yourself Beaucaire?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, monsieur.” He was swaying to and fro; his servants ran to support + him. + </p> + <p> + “I wish—” continued Molyneux, hesitating. “Evil take me!—but + I'm sorry you're hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “Assist Sir Hugh into my carriage,” said Lady Mary. + </p> + <p> + “Farewell, mademoiselle!” M. Beaucaire's voice was very faint. His eyes + were fixed upon her face. She did not look toward him. + </p> + <p> + They were propping Sir Hugh on the cushions. The Duke rode up close to + Beaucaire, but Francois seized his bridle fiercely, and forced the horse + back on its haunches. + </p> + <p> + “The man's servants worship him,” said Molyneux. + </p> + <p> + “Curse your insolence!” exclaimed the Duke. “How much am I to bear from + this varlet and his varlets? Beaucaire, if you have not left Bath by + to-morrow noon, you will be clapped into jail, and the lashing you escaped + to-night shall be given you thrice tenfold!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be-in the—Assemily—Room' at nine—o'clock, one + week —from—to-night,” answered the young man, smiling + jauntily, though his lips were colorless. The words cost him nearly all + his breath and strength. “You mus' keep—in the—backgroun', + monsieur. Ha, ha!” The door of the coach closed with a slam. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle—fare—well!” + </p> + <p> + “Drive on!” said Lady Mary. + </p> + <p> + M. Beaucaire followed the carriage with his eyes. As the noise of the + wheels and the hoof-beats of the accompanying cavalcade grew fainter in + the distance, the handkerchief he had held against his side dropped into + the white dust, a heavy red splotch. + </p> + <p> + “Only—roses,” he gasped, and fell back in the arms of his servants. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Five + </h2> + <p> + Beau Nash stood at the door of the rooms, smiling blandly upon a dainty + throng in the pink of its finery and gay furbelows. The great exquisite + bent his body constantly in a series of consummately adjusted bows: before + a great dowager, seeming to sweep the floor in august deference; somewhat + stately to the young bucks; greeting the wits with gracious friendliness + and a twinkle of raillery; inclining with fatherly gallantry before the + beauties; the degree of his inclination measured the altitude of the + recipient as accurately as a nicely calculated sand-glass measures the + hours. + </p> + <p> + The King of Bath was happy, for wit, beauty, fashion—to speak more + concretely: nobles, belles, gamesters, beaux, statesmen, and poets —made + fairyland (or opera bouffe, at least) in his dominions; play ran higher + and higher, and Mr. Nash's coffers filled up with gold. To crown his + pleasure, a prince of the French blood, the young Comte de Beaujolais, + just arrived from Paris, had reached Bath at noon in state, accompanied by + the Marquis de Mirepoix, the ambassador of Louis XV. The Beau dearly + prized the society of the lofty, and the present visit was an honor to + Bath: hence to the Master of Ceremonies. What was better, there would be + some profitable hours with the cards and dice. So it was that Mr. Nash + smiled never more benignly than on that bright evening. The rooms rang + with the silvery voices of women and delightful laughter, while the + fiddles went merrily, their melodies chiming sweetly with the joyance of + his mood. + </p> + <p> + The skill and brazen effrontery of the ambassador's scoundrelly servant in + passing himself off for a man of condition formed the point of departure + for every conversation. It was discovered that there were but three + persons present who had not suspected him from the first; and, by a + singular paradox, the most astute of all proved to be old Mr. Bicksit, the + traveler, once a visitor at Chateaurien; for he, according to report, had + by a coup of diplomacy entrapped the impostor into an admission that there + was no such place. However, like poor Captain Badger, the worthy old man + had held his peace out of regard for the Duke of Winterset. This nobleman, + heretofore secretly disliked, suspected of irregular devices at play, and + never admired, had won admiration and popularity by his remorse for the + mistake, and by the modesty of his attitude in endeavoring to atone for + it, without presuming upon the privilege of his rank to laugh at the + indignation of society; an action the more praiseworthy because his + exposure of the impostor entailed the disclosure of his own culpability in + having stood the villain's sponsor. To-night, the happy gentleman, with + Lady Mary Carlisle upon his arm, went grandly about the rooms, sowing and + reaping a harvest of smiles. 'Twas said work would be begun at once to + rebuild the Duke's country seat, while several ruined Jews might be paid + out of prison. People gazing on the beauty and the stately but modest hero + by her side, said they would make a noble pair. She had long been + distinguished by his attentions, and he had come brilliantly out of the + episode of the Frenchman, who had been his only real rival. Wherever they + went, there arose a buzz of pleasing gossip and adulation. Mr. Nash, + seeing them near him, came forward with greetings. A word on the side + passed between the nobleman and the exquisite. + </p> + <p> + “I had news of the rascal tonight,” whispered Nash. “He lay at a farm till + yesterday, when he disappeared; his ruffians, too.” + </p> + <p> + “You have arranged?” asked the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “Fourteen bailiffs are watching without. He could not come within gunshot. + If they clap eyes on him, they will hustle him to jail, and his cutthroats + shall not avail him a hair's weight. The impertinent swore he'd be here by + nine, did he?” + </p> + <p> + “He said so; and 'tis a rash dog, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “It is just nine now.” + </p> + <p> + “Send out to see if they have taken him.” + </p> + <p> + “Gladly.” + </p> + <p> + The Beau beckoned an attendant, and whispered in his ear. + </p> + <p> + Many of the crowd had edged up to the two gentlemen with apparent + carelessness, to overhear their conversation. Those who did overhear + repeated it in covert asides, and this circulating undertone, confirming a + vague rumor that Beaucaire would attempt the entrance that night, lent a + pleasurable color of excitement to the evening. The French prince, the + ambassador, and their suites were announced. Polite as the assembly was, + it was also curious, and there occurred a mannerly rush to see the + newcomers. Lady Mary, already pale, grew whiter as the throng closed round + her; she looked up pathetically at the Duke, who lost no time in + extricating her from the pressure. + </p> + <p> + “Wait here,” he said; “I will fetch you a glass of negus,” and + disappeared. He had not thought to bring a chair, and she, looking about + with an increasing faintness and finding none, saw that she was standing + by the door of a small side-room. The crowd swerved back for the passage + of the legate of France, and pressed upon her. She opened the door, and + went in. + </p> + <p> + The room was empty save for two gentlemen, who were quietly playing cards + at a table. They looked up as she entered. They were M. Beaucaire and Mr. + Molyneux. + </p> + <p> + She uttered a quick cry and leaned against the wall, her hand to her + breast. Beaucaire, though white and weak, had brought her a chair before + Molyneux could stir. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle—” + </p> + <p> + “Do not touch me!” she said, with such frozen abhorrence in her voice that + he stopped short. “Mr. Molyneux, you seek strange company!” + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” replied Molyneux, bowing deeply, as much to Beaucaire as to + herself, “I am honored by the presence of both of you. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, are you mad!” she exclaimed, contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “This gentleman has exalted me with his confidence, madam,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Will you add your ruin to the scandal of this fellow's presence here? How + he obtained entrance—” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, mademoiselle,” interrupted Beaucaire. “Did I not say I should + come? M. Molyneux was so obliging as to answer for me to the fourteen + frien's of M. de Winterset and Meestaire Nash.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you not know,” she turned vehemently upon Molyneux, “that he will be + removed the moment I leave this room? Do you wish to be dragged out with + him? For your sake, sir, because I have always thought you a man of heart, + I give you a chance to save yourself from disgrace—and—your + companion from jail. Let him slip out by some retired way, and you may + give me your arm and we will enter the next room as if nothing had + happened. Come, sir—” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle—” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Molyneux, I desire to hear nothing from your companion. Had I not + seen you at cards with him I should have supposed him in attendance as + your lackey. Do you desire to take advantage of my offer, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, I could not tell you, on that night—” + </p> + <p> + “You may inform your high-born friend, Mr. Molyneux, that I heard + everything he had to say; that my pride once had the pleasure of listening + to his high-born confession!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, it is gentle to taunt one with his birth, mademoiselle? Ah, no! There + is a man in my country who say strange things of that—that a man is + not his father, but himself.” + </p> + <p> + “You may inform your friend, Mr. Molyneux, that he had a chance to defend + himself against accusation; that he said all—” + </p> + <p> + “That I did say all I could have strength to say. Mademoiselle, you did + not see—as it was right—that I had been stung by a big wasp. + It was nothing, a scratch; but, mademoiselle, the sky went round and the + moon dance' on the earth. I could not wish that big wasp to see he had + stung me; so I mus' only say what I can have strength for, and stand + straight till he is gone. Beside', there are other rizzons. Ah, you mus' + belief! My Molyneux I sen' for, and tell him all, because he show courtesy + to the yo'ng Frenchman, and I can trus' him. I trus' you, mademoiselle—long + ago—and would have tol' you ev'rything, excep' jus' because—well, + for the romance, the fon! You belief? It is so clearly so; you do belief, + mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle-I have the honor to ask you: if you had known this Beaucaire + was hones', though of peasant birth, would you—” + </p> + <p> + Involuntarily, controlled as her icy presence was, she shuddered. There + was a moment of silence. + </p> + <p> + “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?” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, madam,” said Mr. Molyneux. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “An' live men are jus'—names!” said M. Beaucaire. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter Six + </h2> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “'Tis a lucky thing that fellow was got out of the way,” he ejaculated, + under cover. + </p> + <p> + “Thank me for it,” rejoined Winterset. + </p> + <p> + 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. + </p> + <p> + “The villain's in, and Molyneux hath gone mad!” + </p> + <p> + 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.” + </p> + <p> + “What's to be done?” asked the Beau. + </p> + <p> + “Send the bailiffs—” + </p> + <p> + “Fie, fie! A file of bailiffs? The scandal!” + </p> + <p> + “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.” + </p> + <p> + Three minutes later, his Grace of Winterset flung wide the card-room door, + and, after his friends had entered, closed it. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” remarked M. Beaucaire quietly. “Six more large men.” + </p> + <p> + 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?” + </p> + <p> + “If this is to be known, 'twill be better if I leave after; I should be + observed if I went now.” + </p> + <p> + “As you will, madam,” he answered, not displeased. “And now, you impudent + villain,” he began, turning to M. Beaucaire, but to fall back astounded. + “'Od's blood, the dog hath murdered and robbed some royal prince!” He + forgot Lady Mary's presence in his excitement. “Lay hands on him!” he + shouted. “Tear those orders from him!” + </p> + <p> + Molyneux threw himself between. “One word!” he cried. “One word before you + offer an outrage you will repent all your lives!” + </p> + <p> + “Or let M. de Winterset come alone,” laughed M. Beaucaire. + </p> + <p> + “Do you expect me to fight a cut-throat barber, and with bare hands?” + </p> + <p> + “I think one does not expec' monsieur to fight anybody. Would I fight you, + you think? That was why I had my servants, that evening we play. I would + gladly fight almos' any one in the won'; but I did not wish to soil my + hand with a—” + </p> + <p> + “Stuff his lying mouth with his orders!” shouted the Duke. + </p> + <p> + But Molyneux still held the gentlemen back. “One moment,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “M. de Winterset,” said Beaucaire, “of what are you afraid? You calculate + well. Beaucaire might have been belief—an impostor that you yourself + expose'? Never! But I was not goin' reveal that secret. You have not + absolve me of my promise.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell what you like,” answered the Duke. “Tell all the wild lies you have + time for. You have five minutes to make up your mind to go quietly.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you absolve me, then? Ha, ha! Oh, yes! Mademoiselle,” he bowed to + Lady Mary, “I have the honor to reques' you leave the room. You shall miss + no details if these frien's of yours kill me, on the honor of a French + gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “A French what?” laughed Bantison. + </p> + <p> + “Do you dare keep up the pretense?” cried Lord Town brake. “Know, you + villain barber, that your master, the Marquis de Mirepoix, is in the next + room.” + </p> + <p> + Molyneux heaved a great sigh of relief. “Shall I—” He turned to M. + Beaucaire. + </p> + <p> + The young man laughed, and said: “Tell him come here at once. + </p> + <p> + “Impudent to the last!” cried Bantison, as Molyneux hurried from the room. + </p> + <p> + “Now you goin' to see M. Beaucaire's master,” said Beaucaire to Lady Mary. + “'Tis true what I say, the other night. I cross from Prance in his suite; + my passport say as his barber. Then to pass the ennui of exile, I come to + Bath and play for what one will. It kill the time. But when the people + hear I have been a servant they come only secretly; and there is one of + them—he has absolve' me of a promise not to speak—of him I + learn something he cannot wish to be tol'. I make some trouble to learn + this thing. Why I should do this? Well—that is my own rizzon. So I + make this man help me in a masque, the unmasking it was, for, as there is + no one to know me, I throw off my black wig and become myself—and so + I am 'Chateaurien,' Castle Nowhere. Then this man I use', this Winterset, + he—” + </p> + <p> + “I have great need to deny these accusations?” said the Duke. + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Lady Mary wearily. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I tell you why I mus' be 'Victor' and 'Beaucaire' and + 'Chateaurien,' and not myself?” + </p> + <p> + “To escape from the bailiffs for debts for razors and soap,” gibed Lord + Townbrake. + </p> + <p> + “No, monsieur. In France I have got a cousin who is a man with a very bad + temper at some time', and he will never enjoy his relatives to do what he + does not wish—” + </p> + <p> + He was interrupted by a loud commotion from without. The door was flung + open, and the young Count of Beaujolais bounded in and threw his arms + about the neck of M. Beaucaire. + </p> + <p> + “Philippe!” he cried. “My brother, I have come to take you back with me.” + </p> + <p> + M. de Mirepoix followed him, bowing as a courtier, in deference; but M. + Beaucaire took both his hands heartily. Molyneux came after, with Mr. + Nash, and closed the door. + </p> + <p> + “My warmest felicitations,” said the Marquis. “There is no longer need for + your incognito.” + </p> + <p> + “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'?” + </p> + <p> + “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!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” the ambassador cried out. “He would not be content with me; he + would wander over a strange country.” + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “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. + </p> + <p> + “There is one more thing to say, that is all. I have said I learn' a + secret, and use it to make a man introduce me if I will not tell. He has + absolve' me of that promise. My frien's, I had not the wish to ruin that + man. I was not receive'; Meestaire Nash had reboff me; I had no other way + excep' to use this fellow. So I say, 'Take me to Lady Malbourne's ball as + “Chateaurien.”' I throw off my wig, and shave, and behol', I am M. le Duc + de Castle Nowhere. Ha, ha! You see?” + </p> + <p> + The young man's manner suddenly changed. He became haughty, menacing. He + stretched out his arm, and pointed at Winterset. “Now I am no 'Beaucaire,' + messieurs. I am a French gentleman. The man who introduce' me at the price + of his honor, and then betray' me to redeem it, is that coward, that + card-cheat there!” + </p> + <p> + Winterset made a horrible effort to laugh. The gentlemen who surrounded + him fell away as from pestilence. “A French gentleman!” he sneered + savagely, and yet fearfully. “I don't know who you are. Hide behind as + many toys and ribbons as you like; I'll know the name of the man who dares + bring such a charge!” + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” cried de Mirepoix sharply, advancing a step towards him; but he + checked himself at once. He made a low bow of state, first to the young + Frenchman, then to Lady Mary and the company. “Permit me, Lady Mary and + gentlemen,” he said, “to assume the honor of presenting you to His + Highness, Prince Louis-Philippe de Valois, Duke of Orleans, Duke of + Chartres, Duke of Nemours, Duke of Montpeti'sier, First Prince of the + Blood Royal, First Peer of France, Lieutenant-General of French Infantry, + Governor of Dauphine, Knight of the Golden Fleece, Grand Master of the + Order of Notre Dame, of Mount Carmel, and of St. Lazarus in Jerusalem; and + cousin to His most Christian Majesty, Louis the Fifteenth, King of + France.” + </p> + <p> + “Those are a few of my brother's names,” whispered Henri of Beaujolais to + Molyneux. “Old Mirepoix has the long breath, but it take' a strong man two + day' to say all of them. I can suppose this Winterset know' now who bring + the charge!” + </p> + <p> + “Castle Nowhere!” gasped Beau Nash, falling back upon the burly prop of + Mr. Bantison's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “The Duke of Orleans will receive a message from me within the hour!” said + Winterset, as he made his way to the door. His face was black with rage + and shame. + </p> + <p> + “I tol' you that I would not soil my hand with you,” answered the young + man. “If you send a message no gentleman will bring it. Whoever shall bear + it will receive a little beating from Francois.” + </p> + <p> + He stepped to Lady Mary's side. Her head was bent low, her face averted. + She seemed to breathe with difficulty, and leaned heavily upon a chair. + “Monseigneur,” she faltered in a half whisper, “can you—forgive me? + It is a bitter—mistake-I have made. Forgive.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive?” he answered, and his voice was as broken as hers; but he went + on, more firmly: “It is—nothing—less than nothing. There is—only + jus' one—in the—whole worl' who would not have treat' me the + way that you treat' me. It is to her that I am goin' to make reparation. + You know something, Henri? I am not goin' back only because the king + forgive' me. I am goin' to please him; I am goin' to espouse mademoiselle, + our cousin. My frien's, I ask your felicitations.” + </p> + <p> + “And the king does not compel him!” exclaimed young Henri. + </p> + <p> + “Henri, you want to fight me?” cried his brother sharply. “Don' you think + the King of France is a wiser man than me?” + </p> + <p> + He offered his hand to Lady Mary. “Mademoiselle is fatigue'. Will she + honor me?” + </p> + <p> + He walked with her to the door. Her hand fluttering faintly in his. From + somewhere about the garments of one of them a little cloud of faded + rose-leaves fell, and lay strewn on the floor behind them. He opened the + door, and the lights shone on a multitude of eager faces turned toward it. + There was a great hum of voices, and, over all, the fiddles wove a + wandering air, a sweet French song of the voyageur. + </p> + <p> + He bowed very low, as, with fixed and glistening eyes, Lady Mary Carlisle, + the Beauty of Bath, passed slowly by him and went out of the room. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Monsieur Beaucaire, by Booth Tarkington + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONSIEUR BEAUCAIRE *** + +***** This file should be named 1983-h.htm or 1983-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/8/1983/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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