These Old Shades

“M. le Duc!”

Justin drew forth his jewelled snuff-box, and presented it. Tall as he was, Saint-Vire was made to look insignificant beside this man of splendid height, and haughty bearing.

“A little snuff, dear Comte? No?” He shook the foaming ruffles back from his white hand, and very daintily took a pinch of snuff. His thin lips were smiling, but not pleasantly.

“Saint-Vire was admiring your page, Justin,” Davenant said. “He is exciting no little attention.”

“No doubt.” Avon snapped his fingers imperiously, and Leon came forward. “He is almost unique, my dear Comte. Pray look your fill.”

“Your page is of no interest to me, m’sieur,” Saint-Vire answered shortly, and turned aside.

“Behind me.” The command was given coldly, and at once Leon stepped back. “The so worthy Comte! Comfort him, Hugh.” Avon passed on again, and in a little while was seated at a card table, playing lansquenet.

Davenant was called to another table presently, and proceeded to play at faro, with Saint-Vire as his partner. A foppish gentleman sat opposite him, and started to deal.

“Mon cher, your friend is always so amusing. Why the page?” He glanced towards Avon’s table.

Hugh gathered up his cards.

“How should I know, Lavoulcre? Doubtless he has a reason. And—forgive me—I am weary of the subject.”

“He is so—so arresting,” apologized Lavoulcre. “The page. Red hair—oh, but of a radiance!—and blue, blue eyes. Or are they purple-black? The little oval face, and the patrician nose——! Justin is wonderful. You do not think so, Henri?”

“Oh, without doubt!” Saint-Vire answered. “He should have been an actor. Quant r moi, I would humbly suggest that enough notice has been taken of the Duc and his page. Your play, Marcherand.”

At Avon’s table one of the gamblers yawned, pushing back his chair.

“Mille pardons, but I thirst! I go in search of refreshment.”

The game had come to an end, and Justin was toying with his dice-box. He glanced up now, and waved to Chateau-Mornay to keep his seat.

“My page will fetch wine, Louis. He is not only to be gazed upon. Leon!”

Leon slipped from behind Avon’s chair, from where he had been an intent spectator of the game.

“Monseigneur?”

“Canary and burgundy, at once.”

Leon withdrew, and nervously threaded his way between the tables to the buffet. He returned presently with a tray, which he presented to Justin, on one knee. Justin pointed silently to where Chateau-Mornay sat, and, blushing for his mistake, Leon went to him, and again presented the tray. When he had served each one in turn he looked inquiringly up at his master.

“Go to M. Davenant, and ask him if he has commands for you,” said Justin languidly. “Will you hazard a throw with me, Cornalle?”

“Ay, what you will.” Cornalle pulled a dice-box from his pocket. “Two ponies? Will you throw?”

Justin cast his dice carelessly on the table, and turned his head to watch Leon. The page was at Davenant’s elbow. Davenant looked up.

“Well, Leon? What is it?”

“Monseigneur sent me, m’sieur, to see if you had commands for me.”

Saint-Vire shot him a quick look, leaning back in his chair, one hand lying lightly clenched on the table.

“Thank you, no,” Hugh replied. “Unless—Saint-Vire, will you drink with me? And you, messieurs?”

“I thank you, Davenant,” said the Comte. “You have no thirst, Lavoulcre?”

“At the moment, no. Oh, if you all must drink, then so will I!”

“Leon, will you fetch burgundy, please?”

“Yes, m’sieur,” bowed Leon. He was beginning to enjoy himself. He walked away again, looking about him appreciatively. When he returned he made use of the lesson just learned at Avon’s table, and presented the silver tray first to Saint-Vire.

The Comte turned in his chair and, picking up the decanter, slowly poured out a glassful, and handed it to Davenant. He poured out another, his eyes on Leon’s face. Conscious of the steady regard Leon looked up, and met Saint-Vire’s eyes frankly. The Comte held the decanter poised, but poured no more for a long minute.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Leon, m’sieur.”

Saint-Vire smiled.

“No more?”

The curly head was shaken.

“Je ne sais plus rien, m’sieur.”

“So ignorant?” Saint-Vire went on with his work. As he picked up the last glass he spoke again. “Methinks you have not been long with M. le Duc?”

“No, m’sieur. As m’sieur says.” Leon rose, and looked across at Davenant. “M’sieur?”

“That is all, Leon, thank you.”

“So you have found a use for him, Hugh? Was I not wise to bring him? Your servant, Lavoulcre.”

The soft voice startled Saint-Vire, and his hand shook, so that a little liquid was spilled from his glass. Avon stood at his side, quizzing-glass raised.

“A very prince of pages,” smiled Lavoulcre. “How is your luck to-night, Justin?”

“Wearisome,” sighed the Duke. “For a week it has been impossible to lose. From the dreamy expression on Hugh’s face I infer that it is not so with him.” He went to stand behind Hugh’s chair, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Belike, my dear Hugh, I shall bring you better luck.”

“I have never known you do that yet,” retorted Davenant. He set down his emptied glass. “Shall we play again?”

“By all means,” nodded Saint-Vire. “You and I are in a sad way, Davenant.”

“And shall soon be in a sadder,” remarked Hugh, shuffling the pack. “Remind me, Lavoulcre, that in future I only play with you as my partner.” He dealt the cards round, and, as he did so, spoke quietly to the Duke, in English. “Send the child downstairs, Alastair. You have no need of him.”

“I am as wax in your hands,” replied his Grace. “He has served his turn. Leon, you will await me in the hall.” He stretched out his hand to pick up Hugh’s cards. “Dear me!” He laid them down again, and watched the play in silence for a while.

At the end of the round Lavoulcre spoke to him.

“Where is your brother, Alastair? The so charming youth! He is quite, quite mad!”

“Lamentably so. Rupert, for all I know, is either languishing in an English sponging house, or living upon my hapless brother-in-law’s bounty.”

“That is Miladi Fanny’s husband, yes? Edward Marling, n’est-ce pas? You have only one brother and sister?”

“They more than suffice me,” said his Grace.

Lavoulcre laughed.

“Voyons, it amuses me, your family! Is there no love between you at all?”

“Very little.”

“And yet I have heard that you reared them, those two!”

“I have no recollection of it,” said Justin.

“Come now, Justin, when your mother died you kept a hand on the reins!” expostulated Davenant.

“But lightly, my dear. Enough only to make both a little afraid of me; no more.”

“Lady Fanny is very fond of you.”

“Yes, I believe she is occasionally,” agreed Justin calmly.

“Ah, Miladi Fanny!” Lavoulcre kissed his finger-tips. “Behold! how she is ravissante! ”