went, down the street, with the boy at a respectful distance behind him.
They came at last to the Rue St.-Honore, and to Avon’s house. He passed in with never a glance behind him to see whether his new possession followed or not, and walked across the courtyard to the great nail-studded door. Bowing lackeys admitted him, looking in surprise at the shabby figure who came in his wake.
The Duke let fall his cloak, and handed his hat to one of the footmen.
“Mr. Davenant?” he said.
“In the library, your Grace.”
Avon sauntered across the hall to the library door. It was opened for him, and he went in, nodding to the boy to follow.
Hugh Davenant sat by the fire, reading a book of poems. He glanced up as his host came in, and smiled.
“Well, Justin?” Then he saw the shrinking child by the door. “Faith, what have we here?”
“You may well ask,” said the Duke. He came to the fire, and stretched one elegantly shod foot to the blaze. “A whim. That dirty and starved scrap of humanity is mine.” He spoke in English, but it was evident that the boy understood, for he flushed, and hung his curly head.
“Yours?” Davenant looked from him to the boy. “What mean you, Alastair? Surely—you cannot mean—your son?”
“Oh, no!” His Grace smiled in some amusement. “Not this time, my dear Hugh. I bought this little rat for the sum of one diamond.”
“But—but why, in heaven’s name?”
“I have no idea,” said his Grace placidly. “Come here, rat.”
The boy came to him timidly, and allowed Justin to turn his face to the light.
“Quite a pretty child,” the Duke remarked. “I shall make him my page. So entertaining to possess a page, body and soul.”
Davenant rose, and took one of the boy’s hands in his.
“I suppose you will explain, some time or another,” he said. “For the present, why not feed the poor child?”
“You are always so efficient,” sighed the Duke. He turned to the table, on which a cold supper was laid, awaiting him. “Wonderful. You might almost have known that I should bring home a guest. You may eat, little rat.”
The boy looked up at him shyly.
“Please, milor’, I can wait. I—I would not eat your supper. I would rather wait, if—if you please.”
“I do not please, my child. Go and eat.” He sat down as he spoke, twirling his quizzing glass. After a moment’s hesitation the boy went to the table and waited for Hugh to carve him a leg of chicken. Having supplied his wants, Hugh came back to the fire.
“Are you mad, Justin?” he asked, faintly smiling.
“I believe not.”
“Then why have you done this? What do you, of all men, want with a child of his age?”
“I thought it might be an amusement. As you doubtless know, I am suffering from
Davenant frowned.
“You surely do not intend to adopt the child?”
“He—er—adopted me.”
“You are going to make him as your son?” persisted Hugh incredulously.
The Duke’s eyebrows rose, rather superciliously.
“My dear Hugh! A child from the gutter? He shall be my page.”
“And what interest will that afford you?”
Justin smiled, and his glance travelled to the boy.
“I wonder?” he said softly.
“You have some special reason?”
“As you so sapiently remark, my dear Hugh, I have some special reason.”
Davenant shrugged his shoulders, and allowed the subject to drop. He sat watching the child at the table, who presently finished his repast, and came to the Duke’s side.
“If you please, sir, I have finished.”
Avon put up his eyeglass.
“Have you?” he said.
The boy knelt suddenly and, to Davenant’s surprise, kissed the Duke’s hand.
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Avon disengaged himself, but the boy knelt still, looking up into the handsome face with humble eyes. The Duke took a pinch of snuff.
“My esteemed child, there sits the man you had best thank.” He waved his hand towards Davenant. “I should never have thought of feeding you.”
“I—I thanked you for saving me from Jean, milor’,” the boy answered.
“You are reserved for a worse fate,” said the Duke sardonically. “You now belong to me—body and soul.”
“Yes, sir. If you please,” murmured the boy, and sent him a swift glance of admiration from beneath his long lashes.
The thin lips curled a little.
“The prospect is no doubt pleasing?”
“Yes, sir. I—I would like to serve you.”
“But then, you do not know me very well,” said Justin, with a slight chuckle. “I am an inhuman taskmaster, eh, Hugh?”
“You are not the man to care for a child of his age,” said Hugh quietly.
“True, very true. Shall I give him to you?”
A trembling hand touched his great cuff.
“Please, sir——”
Justin looked across at his friend.
“I do not think I shall, Hugh. It is so entertaining, and so—er—novel, to be a gilded saint in the eyes of—er— unfledged innocence. I shall keep the boy for just so long as he continues to amuse me. What is your name, my child?”
“Leon, sir.”
“How delightfully brief!” Always a faint undercurrent of sarcasm ran beneath the surface of the Duke’s smooth voice. “Leon. No more, no less. The question is—Hugh will of course have the answer ready—what next to do with Leon?”
“Put him to bed,” said Davenant.
“Naturally—And do you think—a bath?”
“By all means.”
“Ah yes!” sighed the Duke, and struck a handbell at his side.
A lackey came in answer to the summons, bowing deeply.
“Your Grace desires?”
“Send me Walker,” said Justin.
The lackey effaced himself, and presently a neat individual came in, grey-haired and prim.
“Walker! I had something to say to you. Yes, I remember. Walker, do you observe this child?”
Walker glanced at the kneeling boy.
“Ay, your Grace.”
“He does. Marvellous,” murmured the Duke. “His name, Walker, is Leon. Strive to bear it in mind.”
“Certainly, your Grace.”
“He requires several things, but first a bath.”
“Ay, your Grace.”
