“Yes?” Léonie looked from one to the other. “Please will you come, m’sieur? I shall ask Monseigneur to invite M. Davenant also.”
In spite of himself Avon smiled.
“A happy thought, ma fille.”
“Why, child, I believe I must not,” Marling said. “You shall take her ladyship, and let me go home.”
“Ah, bah!” said Léonie. “It is because you do not like Monseigneur, is it not?”
“My infant is nothing if not outspoken,” remarked Avon. “That is the matter in a nutshell, child.”
“You do not think he is enough respectable. But indeed he is very respectable now, je vous assure!”
A choking sound came from Rupert; my lady’s shoulders shook, and Marling collapsed into helpless laughter. Léonie looked at the convulsed trio in disgust, and turned to the Duke.
“What is the matter with them, Monseigneur? Why do they laugh?”
“I have no idea, infant,” replied Avon gravely.
“They are silly, I think. Very silly.”
But the laughter cleared the air. Marling looked at the Duke, and said unsteadily:
“I confess—it’s your lack of—of respectability that sticks—somewhat in my gullet!”
“I am sure it must,” said his Grace. “But you shall have Davenant to support you. He will be delighted to join you in mourning over my departed morals.”
“The prospect is most alluring,” Marling said. He glanced uncertainly at his wife. “But I do not think I fit well in this mad venture.”
“My dear Edward, do I fit well in it?” asked his Grace, pained. “I count upon you to aid me in lending a note of sobriety to the party.”
Marling regarded his Grace’s coat of dull crimson velvet quizzically.
“I might lend sobriety, but you, Avon? You supply the magnificence, I think.”
“You flatter me,” Avon bowed. “I am to understand that you will join us?”
“Yes, Edward, yes! Oh please!”
“Voyons, it will be fort amusant, m’sieur. You must come.”
Rupert ventured to uplift his voice.
“Ay, join us, Marling. The more the merrier.”
“In face of such kind entreaties what can I say?” Marling took his wife’s hand. “I thank you, Avon. I will come.”
“Gaston, then, had best return to London for your baggage,” said his Grace.
Léonie chuckled.
“He will die, Monseigneur. I know it.”
“As you observe,” remarked his Grace to Marling, “death and disaster are a source of never-failing amusement to my infant.”
Marling laid his hand on Léonie’s head.
“She is a rogue, Avon, is she not? But a pretty rogue.”
Léonie opened wide her eyes.
“Vraiment? Am I pretty, Monseigneur? Do you think so?”
“Passable, my infant, passable.”
Her face fell.
“I was afraid you would not think so, Monseigneur.”
Avon pinched her chin.
“Child, do I not call you ‘ma belle’?”
Léonie caught his hand to her lips.
“Merci, Monseigneur! You make me very happy, enfin!”
Marling looked suddenly at his wife. She smiled, and cast down her eyes. Marling turned to Rupert.
“I think I’ll take your excellent—though ill-timed—advice, my boy.”
Rupert grinned.
“What, the ham? Ay, ’twas good advice, stap me it was! But I’ll not deny ’twas said to enrage you, Edward.”
“It succeeded in doing so, scamp. Avon, I’ll not ask you to send Gaston back to England. I can return there myself, and join you in Paris next week.”
“My dear Edward, it is good for Gaston to bestir himself. He grows fat and lazy. He shall meet us in Paris.”
“You are very good,” Marling bowed.
“That is not my reputation,” said his Grace, and rang the bell.
On the following morning the whole party set out for Paris. Lady Fanny was flustered, Marling amused, Rupert flippant, Léonie excited and the Duke leisurely and placid as ever. The entire population of Le Dennier turned out to see the passing of this cavalcade, and marvelled at the chaise piled high with baggage, at the great berline with his Grace’s arms blazoned on the door, and at the two smaller coaches that followed it.
The Marlings occupied one of these, while Avon, Léonie and Rupert travelled in the berline. Rupert was propped up with cushions to alleviate the discomfort of the jolting, and whiled away the time by playing cards with Léonie. His Grace lay back in his corner and watched them in some amusement.
XXIV
Hugh Davenant Is Agreeably Surprised
They rested at Rouen over the weekend, and came to Paris on Tuesday. Walker awaited them in the hall of the Hôtel Avon, and not by the flicker of an eyelid did he betray that he recognised Léonie. All was in order for his Grace’s coming, and Lady Fanny immediately took charge of the establishment. Having seen to the unpacking of her trunks, and scattered her orders broadcast, she repaired to his Grace in the library, what time Léonie went to see Madame Dubois the housekeeper.
“Well, Justin, what now?” said my lady, sitting down opposite him at his desk. “Are we to make some noise?”
“Decidedly, Fanny. As much noise as possible. I await your suggestions.”
“A ball,” she said briskly. “ ’Twill do for a beginning.” She bit her fingertip reflectively. “I must equip the child first, and myself. I declare I have scarce a rag to my back! A white brocade for Léonie, I think, or a certain shade of green. With that flaming head—”
“My dear, I desire she shall be poudrée.”
“As you will, Justin. Yes, it might be pretty. We shall see. I dare swear you have your reasons for wishing it. I shall send the invitations for—a fortnight hence. It’s a little enough time, to be sure, but I don’t despair of acceptances. Your name and mine, my dear—!” Her eyes sparkled. “I vow I’ll have all Paris here! And then?”
“Then, my dear Fanny, Versailles,” he said.
Lady Fanny nodded.
“It’s very well. You’ll make some stir with her, Justin.”
“It is my intention,” he said. “Send out your cards, my dear.”
“Expense?” She cocked her head to one side.
“You will not consider it. I think we will have the young Condé and De Penthièvre. The Duc de Richelieu also.”
“I leave them
