“Yes,” said the Duke. “Quite a pretty member.”
Léon smiled engagingly.
“Quant à ça, you have very beautiful hands, Monseigneur, I think.”
The Duke’s lips quivered.
“You overwhelm me, my child. As you were saying, your parents died. What then?”
“Oh, then Jean sold the farm! He said he was made for greater things. But I do not know.” Léon tilted his head to one side, considering the point. The irrepressible dimple appeared, and was swiftly banished. Léon eyed his master solemnly, and a little nervously withal.
“We will leave Jean’s capabilities out of the discussion,” said Justin smoothly. “Continue your story.”
“Yes, Monseigneur. Jean sold the farm, and took me away from M. le Curé.” Léon’s face clouded over. “Monsieur wanted to keep me, but Jean would not have it so. He thought I should be useful. So of course monsieur could do naught. Jean brought me to Paris. That was when he made me—” Léon stopped.
“Go on!” said Justin sharply. “That was when he made you—?”
“Work for him,” said Léon lamely. He encountered a searching glance, and his big eyes fell before it.
“Very well,” said Justin at last. “We will leave it at that. Et puis?”
“Then Jean bought the inn in the Rue Sainte-Marie, and—and after a time he met Charlotte, and—and married her. Then it was worse, because Charlotte hated me.” The blue eyes flashed. “I tried to kill her once,” said Léon naively. “With the big carving-knife.”
“Her hatred is not incomprehensible,” said Justin dryly.
“N-no,” replied Léon doubtfully. “I was only fifteen then. I remember I did not have anything to eat all day—besides the beating. And—and that is all, Monseigneur, till you came, and took me away.”
Justin picked up a quill and passed it through his fingers.
“May I ask why you tried to kill this Charlotte—er—with the carving-knife?”
Léon flushed, and looked away.
“There—there was a reason, Monseigneur.”
“I do not doubt it.”
“I—oh, I think she was very unkind and cruel and she—she made me angry. That was all.”
“I am both cruel and unkind, but I do not advise you to try and kill me. Or any of my servants. You see, I know what the colour of your hair denotes.”
The long dark lashes lifted again, and the dimple showed.
“Colère de diable,” Léon said.
“Precisely. You will do well to hide it with me, my child.”
“Yes, Monseigneur. I do not seek to kill those whom I love.”
Justin’s lips curled rather sardonically.
“I am relieved. Now listen to me. You will henceforth be my page; you will be clothed and fed, and well provided for, but in return I will have obedience from you. You understand?”
“But yes, Monseigneur.”
“You will learn that my word is law with my servants. And this is my first command: if anyone should question you as to who you are, or from where you come, you will answer only that you are Avon’s page. You will forget your past until I give you leave to remember it. You see?”
“Yes, Monseigneur.”
“And you will obey Walker as you would myself.”
The firm chin was tilted at that; Léon looked speculatively at the Duke.
“If you do not”—the soft voice, grew softer still—“you will find that I too know how to punish.”
“If it is your will that I obey this Walker,” said Léon with dignity, “I will do it, y‑your‑r‑r Gr‑r‑race!”
Justin looked him over.
“Certainly you will do so. And I prefer that you call me Monseigneur.”
The blue eyes twinkled wickedly.
“This Walker, he has told me that when I speak to you, Monseigneur, I must say ‘your‑r‑r’ ah, bah! I cannot, enfin!”
For one moment Justin stared haughtily at his page. Instantly the twinkle disappeared. Léon stared back gravely.
“Be very careful,” Justin warned him.
“Yes, Monseigneur,” Léon said meekly.
“You may go now. This evening you will accompany me out.” The Duke dipped his quill in the inkhorn, and started to write.
“Where, Monseigneur?” inquired the page with great interest.
“Is that your affair? I dismissed you. Go.”
“Yes, Monseigneur. Pardon!” Léon departed, carefully closing the door behind him. Outside he met Davenant, coming slowly down the stairs. Hugh smiled.
“Well, Léon? Where have you been all the morning?”
“Dressing myself, in these new clothes, m’sieu’. I think I look nice, n’est-ce pas?”
“Very nice. Where are you going now?”
“I do not know, m’sieu’. Perhaps there is something I may do for Monseigneur?”
“If he gave you no orders there is nothing. Can you read?”
“But yes! I was taught. Ah, I have forgotten, m’sieu’!”
“Have you?” Hugh was amused. “If you come with me, child, I’ll find you a book.”
Twenty minutes later Hugh entered the library to find the Duke still writing, as Léon had left him.
“Justin, who and what is Léon? He is a delightful child; certainly no peasant!”
“He is a very impertinent child,” said Justin, with the ghost of a smile. “He is the first page I have had who ever dared to laugh at me.”
“Did he laugh at you? A very wholesome experience for you, Alastair. How old is the child?”
“I have reason to believe that he is nineteen,” said Justin placidly.
“Nineteen! Faith, it’s not possible! He is a babe!”
“Not entirely. Do you come with me to Vassaud’s tonight?”
“I suppose so. I’ve no money to lose, but what matter?”
“You need not play,” said Justin.
“If one does not play, why visit a gaming-house?”
“To talk to the monde. I go to Vassaud’s to see Paris.” He resumed his writing, and presently Hugh strolled away.
At dinner that evening Léon stood behind the Duke’s chair, and waited upon him. Justin seemed hardly to notice him, but Hugh could not take his eyes from that piquant little face. Indeed, he stared so hard that at last Léon stared back, with great dignity, and some reproach. Observing his friend’s fixed regard, Justin turned, and put up his glass to look at Léon.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Monseigneur, only looking at M. Davenant.”
“Then do not.”
“But he looks at me, Monseigneur!”
“That is another matter.”
“I do
