announced that M. de Faugenac wished to see him.
The Duke raised his head.
“M. de Faugenac? Admit him.”
In a few minutes’ time there entered a tubby little gentleman with whom his Grace was but slightly acquainted. Avon rose as he came in and bowed.
“Monsieur!”
“Monsieur!” De Faugenac returned the bow. “Pardon the unseemly hour of this intrusion, I beg!”
“Not at all,” answered the Duke. “Fetch wine, Jules. Pray be seated, m’sieur.”
“No wine for me, I thank you! The gout, you understand. A sad affliction!”
“Very,” agreed his Grace. “Is there something I can do for you, I wonder?”
De Faugenac stretched his hands to the fire.
“Yes, I come on business, m’sieur. Bah, the ugly word! M’sieur will pardon the interruption, I am sure! A splendid fire, Duc!”
Avon bowed. He had seated himself on the arm of a chair, and was looking at his visitor in mild surprise. He drew out his snuff-box and offered it to De Faugenac, who helped himself to a liberal pinch and sneezed violently.
“Exquisite!” he said enthusiastically. “Ah, the business! M’sieur, you will think I come upon a strange errand, but I have a wife!” He beamed at Avon, and nodded several times.
“I felicitate you, m’sieur,” said Avon gravely.
“Yes, yes! A wife! It will explain all.”
“It always does,” answered his Grace.
“Aha, the pleasantry!” De Faugenac broke into delighted laughter. “We know, we husbands, we know!”
“As I am not a husband I may be excused my ignorance. I am sure you are about to enlighten me.” His Grace was becoming bored, for he had remembered that De Faugenac was an impoverished gentleman usually to be found at the heels of Saint-Vire.
“Indeed yes. Yes indeed. My wife. The explanation! She has seen your page, m’sieur!”
“Wonderful!” said the Duke. “We progress.”
“We——? You said progress? We? Progress?”
“It seems I erred,” Avon sighed. “We remain at the same place.”
De Faugenac was puzzled for a moment, but all at once his face broke into fresh smiles.
“Another pleasantry! Yes, yes, I see!”
“I doubt it,” murmured Avon. “You were saying, m’sieur, that your wife had seen my page.”
De Faugenac clasped his hands to his breast.
“She is ravished! She is envious! She pines!”
“Dear me!”
“She gives me no peace!”
“They never do.”
“Aha! No, never, never! But you do not take my meaning, m’sieur, you do not take my meaning!”
“But then, that is hardly my fault,” said Avon wearily. “We have arrived at the point at which your wife gives you no peace.”
“That is the matter in a nutshell! She eats out her heart for your so lovely, your so enchanting, your so elegant——”
Avon held up his hand.
“M’sieur, my policy has ever been to eschew married women.”
De Faugenac stared.
“But—but—what do you mean, m’sieur? Is it another pleasantry? My wife pines for your page.”
“How very disappointing!”
“Your page, your so elegant page! She plagues me day and night to come to you. And I am here! Behold me!”
“I have beheld you for the past twenty minutes, m’sieur,” said Avon rather tartly.
“She begs me to come to you, to ask you if you would part with your page! She cannot rest until she has him to hold her train for her, to carry her gloves and fan. She cannot sleep at night until she knows that he is hers!”
“It seems that madame is destined to spend many sleepless nights,” said Avon.
“Ah no, m’sieur! Consider! It is said that you bought your page. Now, is it not truly said that what may be bought may be sold?”
“Possibly.”
“Yes, yes! Possibly! M’sieur, I am as a slave to my wife.” He kissed the tips of his fingers. “I am as the dirt beneath her feet.” He clasped his hands. “I must bestow on her all that she desires, or die!”
“Pray make use of my sword,” invited his Grace. “It is in the corner behind you.”
“Ah no! M’sieur cannot mean that he refuses! It is impossible! M’sieur, you may name your own price and I will give it!”
Avon stood up. He picked up a silver hand-bell, and rang it.
“M’sieur,” he said silkily, “you may bear my compliments to the Comte de Saint-Vire, and tell him that Leon, my page, is not for sale. Jules, the door.”
De Faugenac rose, very crestfallen.
“M’sieur?”
Avon bowed.
“M’sieur. You mistake! You do not understand!”
“Believe me, I understand perfectly.”
“Ah, but you have no soul thus to thwart a lady’s wish!”
“My misfortune entirely, m’sieur. I am desolate that you are unable to stay longer. M’sieur, your very obedient!” So he bowed De Faugenac out.
No sooner had the door closed behind the little man than it opened again to admit Davenant.
“Who in the name of all that’s marvellous was that?” he asked.
“A creature of no account,” replied his Grace. “He wished to buy Leon. An impertinence. I am going into the country, Hugh.”
“Into the country? Why?”
“I forget. No doubt I shall call the reason to mind some time. Bear with me, my dear; I am still moderately sane.”
Hugh sat down.
“You never were sane. ’Pon rep, you’re a casual host!”
“Ah, Hugh, I crave your pardon on my knees! I encroach on your good nature.”
“Damme, you’re very polite! Is Leon to accompany you?”
“No, I leave him in your charge, Hugh, and I counsel you to have a care for him. While I am away he will not leave the house.”
“I thought there was some mystery. Is he in danger?”
“N-no. I can hardly say. But keep him close, and say naught, my dear. I should not be pleased if harm came to him. Incredible as it may seem, I am becoming fond of the child. I must be entering upon my dotage.”
“We are all fond of him,” said Hugh. “But he is an imp.”
“Undoubtedly. Do not allow him to tease you; he is an impertinent child. Unhappily he cannot be brought to realize that fact. And here he is.”
Leon came in and smiled confidingly as he met the Duke’s eyes.
“Monseigneur, you told me to be ready to accompany you out at three, and it is now half-past the hour,” he said.
Hugh’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter; he turned away, coughing.
“It would appear that I owe you an apology,” said his Grace. “Pray hold me excused for once. I am not going out after all. Come here.”
Leon approached.
