These Old Shades

“Why, we will hope not,” agreed the Duke. “I believe that no one is—struck down—before the appointed hour.”

The Comte groped for his whip, and stood wrenching the lash between his hands.

“With your permission, m’sieur, I will leave you. I have wasted enough time already. Mademoiselle, your servant!” He spat the words out, snatched up his gloves, and went blindly to the door.

“So soon?” mourned his Grace. “I shall hope to have the felicity of seeing you in Paris. I must present my ward to your so charming wife.”

Saint-Vire flung open the door, and twisted the handle viciously. He looked back with a sneer.

“You are full of plans, m’sieur. We will hope that none of them go awry.”

“Certainly,” bowed Avon. “Why should they?”

“There is sometimes—a flaw!” snapped Saint-Vire.

“You bewilder me,” said his Grace. “Are we speaking of your lost jewel, or my plans—or both? I should warn you that I am something of a judge of precious stones, dear Comte.”

“Yes, m’sieur?” The flush mounted to Saint-Vire’s face again. “It is possible that you are labouring under a delusion, M. le Duc. The game is not played out yet.”

“By no means,” said the Duke. “Which reminds me that I have not inquired after your so enchanting son. Pray how does he?”

The Comte showed his teeth.

“He is very well, m’sieur. I feel no anxiety on his behalf. Your servant!” The door shut with a slam.

“The so dear Comte!” murmured Avon.

“Monseigneur, you did not do anything to him!” cried Leonie. “I thought that you would punish him!”

“Ma fille, the day comes when I shall punish him,” answered Avon, and threw down his fan. His voice had changed, and sounded harsh in Leonie’s ears. “And there will be no mercy for him at my hands.”

Leonie looked at him in awe and some admiration.

“You look quite angry, Monseigneur!”

His glance came to rest on her face. He went to her, and, taking her chin in his hand, looked deep into her eyes.

They smiled trustfully up at him. Abruptly he released her.

“I have reason, child. You have seen a villain to-day.”

“Yes, a pig-person,” she nodded. “You won’t let him take me again, will you, Monseigneur?”

“No, my infant. He shall never again have you in his clutches. That I swear.”

She frowned, watching him.

“You seem different, Monseigneur, I think. You are not angry with me?”

The grimness left his mouth, and he smiled.

“It would be impossible, my dear. We will go now and solace Rupert’s boredom.”

CHAPTER XXII

The Arrival of Another Player in the Game

Monday came and went with no sign of Gaston or his charges. His Grace frowned, but Leonie danced with delight, and offered the suggestion that Madam Field had died of agitation.

“It does not seem to worry you over-much,” said Avon dryly.

“No, Monseigneur. I think we are very happy without her. What shall we do to-day?”

But the Duke was not pleased. Rupert looked up at him with a grin.

“Never known you so mindful of the proprieties before, Justin, stap me if I have!”

He encountered a cold glance, and was instantly solemn.

“No offence, Avon, no offence! You can be as prudish as you like for aught I care. But she’s not.”

“Leonie,” said his Grace crushingly, “is as feather-brained as you, or nearly so.”

“Egad,” said Rupert irrepressibly, “I thought we’d not bask much longer in the sunshine of your approval.”

Leonie spoke aggrievedly.

“I am not as feather-brained as Rupert. You are very unkind to say so, Monseigneur.”

Rupert looked at her admiringly.

“That’s it, Leonie. Stand up to him, and hit out from the shoulder. It’s more than I ever did in my life!”

“I am not afraid of Monseigneur,” said Leonie, elevating her small nose. “You are just a coward, Rupert.”

“My child—” the Duke turned his head—“you forget yourself. You owe some gratitude to Rupert.”

“Hey, up I go, and down go you!” said Rupert. “Ecod, it’s a see-saw we’re on!”

“Monseigneur, I have been grateful to Rupert all the morning, and now I am not going to be grateful any longer. It makes me cross.”

“So I observe. Your manners leave much to be desired.”

“I think that you are very cross too,” Leonie ventured. “Voyons, what does it matter that Gaston does not come? He is silly, and fat, and Madame Field is like a hen. We do not want them.”

“Here’s a fine philosophic spirit!” cried Rupert. “You used to be much the same yourself, Justin. What’s come over you?”

Leonie turned to him in triumph.

“I told you he was different, Rupert, and you would only laugh! I never saw him so disagreeable before.”

“Lud, it’s easy to see you’ve not lived with him long!” said Rupert, audaciously.

His Grace came away from the window.

“You are an unseemly pair,” he said. “Leonie, you were wont to respect me more.”

She saw the smile in his eyes, and twinkled responsively.

“Monseigneur, I was a page then, and you would have punished me. Now I am a lady.”

“And do you think I cannot still punish you, my child?”

“Much she’d care!” chuckled Rupert.

“I should care!” Leonie shot at him. “I am sorry if Monseigneur only frowns!”

“The Lord preserve us!” Rupert closed his eyes.

“A little more,” said his Grace, “and you will not get up to-day, my son.”

“Oh, ay! You’ve the whip-hand!” sighed Rupert. “I’m silenced!” He shifted his position, and winced a little.

The Duke bent over him to rearrange the pillows.

“I am not sure that you will get up at all to-day, boy,” he said. “Is it easier?”

“Ay—I mean, I hardly feel it now,” lied his lordship. “Damme, I won’t stay abed any longer, Justin! At this rate we’ll never start for Paris!”

“We shall await your convenience,” said Avon.

“Mighty condescending of you,” smiled Rupert.

“You are not to be impertinent to Monseigneur, Rupert,” said Leonie sternly.

“I thank you, infant. It needs for someone to support my declining prestige. If you are to rise to-day you will rest now, Rupert. Leonie, an you wish to ride out I am at your disposal.”

She jumped up.

“I will go and put on my riding-dress at once. Merci, Monseigneur.”

“I’d give something to come with you,” said Rupert wistfully, when she had gone.

“Patience, child.” His Grace drew the curtains across the window. “Neither the doctor nor I keep you in bed for our amusement.”

“Oh, you’re a damned good nurse! I’ll say that for you,” grimaced Rupert. He smiled rather shyly up at his brother. “I’d not ask for a better.”

“In truth, I surprise myself sometimes,” said his Grace, and went out.

“Ay, and you surprise me, damme you do!” muttered Rupert. “I’d give something to know what’s come over you. Never was there such a change in anyone!”

And indeed his Grace was unusually kind during these irksome days and the biting sarcasm which had withered Rupert of yore was gone from his manner. Rupert puzzled over this inexplicable change for some time, and