These Old Shades

Florimond de Chantourelle tittered amiably.

“He so amused me with his megrims and his sighs! He told me once that he liked best to be in the country, and that ’twas his ambition to have a farm under his own management at Saint-Vire!”

A shadow crossed the Comte’s face.

“A boy’s fancy. When at Saint-Vire he pines for Paris. Your pardon, messieurs—I see Madame de Marguery.” He brushed past Avon as he spoke, making his way towards his hostess.

“Our friend is always so delightfully brusque,” remarked the Duke. “One wonders why he is tolerated.”

“He has moods,” answered Chantourelle. “Sometimes he is very agreeable, but he is not much liked. Now Armand is another matter. Of a gaiety——! You know that there is enmity between them?” He lowered his voice mysteriously, agog to relate the tale.

“The dear Comte is at pains to show us that it is so,” said Avon. “My esteemed friend!” He waved one languid hand to a lavishly powdered and painted individual. “Did I see you with Mademoiselle de Sonnebrune? Now that is a taste I find hard to cultivate.”

The painted gentleman paused, simpering.

“Oh, my dear Duc, she is the dernier cri! One must worship at her feet; it is de rigueur, I assure you.”

Avon put up his glass the better to observe Mademoiselle.

“H’m! Is Paris so devoid of beauties, then?”

“You do not admire her, no? It is a stately beauty, of course.” He was silent for a while, watching the dancers; then he turned again to Avon. “A propos, Duc, is it true that you have acquired a most striking page? I have been out of Paris this fortnight, but I hear now that a red-haired boy goes everywhere in your wake.”

“Quite true,” said Justin. “I thought that the violent but fleeting interest of the world had died?”

“No, oh no! It was Saint-Vire who spoke of the boy. It seems there is some mystery attached to him, is it not so? A nameless page!”

Justin turned his rings round, smiling faintly.

“You may tell Saint-Vire, my friend, that there is no mystery. The page has a very good name.”

“I may tell him?” The Vicomte was puzzled. “But why, Duc? ’Twas but an idle conversation.”

“Naturally.” The enigmatical smile grew. “I should have said that you may tell him if he asks again.”

“Certainly, but I do not suppose—Ah, there is Davenant! Mille pardons, Duc!” He minced away to meet Davenant.

Avon smothered a yawn in his scented handkerchief, and proceeded in his leisurely fashion to the card-room, where he remained for perhaps an hour. Then he sought out his hostess, complimented her in his soft voice, and departed.

Leon was half asleep downstairs, but he opened his eyes as the Duke’s footfall sounded, and jumped up. He assisted the Duke into his cloak, handed him his hat and gloves, and asked whether he was to summon a chair. But the Duke elected to walk, and further commanded his page to keep step beside him. They walked slowly down the street and had turned the corner before Avon spoke.

“My child, when the Comte de Saint-Vire questioned you this evening, what did you answer?”

Leon gave a little skip of surprise, looking up at his master in frank wonderment.

“How did you know, Monseigneur? I did not see you.”

“Possibly not. No doubt you will answer my question in your own good time.”

“Pardon, Monseigneur! M. le Comte asked me where I was born. I do not understand why he should wish to know.”

“I suppose you told him so?”

“Yes, Monseigneur,” nodded Leon. He looked up, twinkling. “I thought you would not be angered if I spoke just a little rudely to that one?” He saw Avon’s lips curl, and flushed in triumph at having made the Duke smile.

“Very shrewd,” remarked Justin. “And then you said——?”

“I said I did not know, Monseigneur. It is true.”

“A comforting thought.”

“Yes,” agreed the page. “I do not like to tell lies.”

“No?” For once Avon seemed disposed to encourage his page to talk. Nothing loth, Leon continued.

“No, Monseigneur. Of course it is sometimes necessary, but I do not like it. Once or twice I lied to Jean because I was afraid to tell the truth, but that is cowardly, n’est-ce pas? I think it is not so wicked to lie to your enemy, but one could not lie—to a friend, or—or to somebody one loved. That would be a black sin, would it not?”

“As I cannot remember ever having loved anyone, I am hardly fitted to answer that question, my child.”

Leon considered him gravely.

“No one?” he asked. “Me, I do not love often, but when I do it is for ever. I loved my mother, and the Cure, and—and I love you, Monseigneur.”

“I beg your pardon?” Avon was a little startled.

“I—I only said that I loved you, Monseigneur.”

“I thought that I could not have heard aright. It is, of course, gratifying, but I do not think you have chosen too wisely. I am sure they will seek to reform you, below-stairs.”

The big eyes flashed.

“They dare not!”

The quizzing-glass was raised.

“Indeed? Are you so formidable?”

“I have a very bad temper, Monseigneur.”

“And you use it in my defence. It is most amusing. Do you fly out upon—my valet, for instance?”

Leon gave a tiny sniff of scorn.

“Oh, he is just a fool, Monseigneur!”

“Lamentably a fool. I have often remarked it.”

They had come to Avon’s hotel by now, and the waiting lackeys held the door for them to pass through. In the hall Avon paused, while Leon stood expectantly before him.

“You may bring wine to the library,” said the Duke, and went in.

When Leon appeared with a heavy silver tray Justin was seated by the fire, his feet upon the hearth. Beneath drooping lids he watched his page pour out a glass of burgundy. Leon brought it to him.

“Thank you.” Avon smiled at Leon’s evident surprise at the unusual courtesy. “No doubt you imagined that I was sadly lacking in manners? You may sit down. At my feet.”

Leon promptly curled up on the rug, cross-legged, and sat looking at the Duke, rather bewildered, but palpably pleased.

Justin drank a little wine, still watching the page, and then set the glass down on a small table at his elbow.

“You find me a trifle unexpected? I desire to be entertained.”

Leon looked at him seriously.

“What shall I do, Monseigneur?”

“You may talk,” Avon said. “Your youthful views on life are most amusing. Pray continue.”

Leon laughed suddenly.

“I do not know what to say, Monseigneur! I do not think I have anything interesting to talk about. I chatter and chatter, they tell me, but it is all nothing. Madame Dubois lets me talk, but Walker—ah, Walker is dull and strict!”

“Who is Madame—er—Dubois?”

Leon opened his eyes very wide.

“But she is your housekeeper, Monseigneur!”

“Really? I have never seen her. Is she a stimulating auditor?”

“Monseigneur?”

“No matter. Tell me of your life in Anjou. Before Jean brought you to Paris.”