Condé kissed the small hand.
“You will bring her to court, Duc?”
“To the levée next week,” said his Grace.
“Then I am satisfied,” Condé said, bowed, and left them.
The Duke looked down at his ward in some amusement.
“You dismiss royalty very summarily, Babe.”
“Oh, Monseigneur, he is quite young, and very like Rupert! He did not mind, do you think?”
“He did not appear to mind,” said the Duke. “What do you want with me, infant?”
“Nothing, Monseigneur. But I thought I would come to find you.”
“You are tired, infant.” He led her to a couch. “You shall sit quietly with me awhile.”
“Yes, please, Monseigneur. It is a very nice dance, I think. I have danced with a great many grand people, and they were all very kind to me indeed.”
“I am glad to hear it, child,” he said gravely. “How does your Prince please you?”
“Oh, he is fort amusant! He told me ever so many things about court, Monseigneur, and he explained who the people were—oh no! It was M. de Brionne who did that. I said ‘Bah’ to the Prince, I am afraid, but he liked it, and he laughed. And I danced with Rupert—and oh, Monseigneur, with M. d’Anvau! He said he was sure he had met me before!” Her eyes danced. “I wanted to say, ‘But yes, m’sieur. I brought you wine at Vassaud’s one night!’ ”
“I sincerely trust you did not, infant?”
“Oh no, I was very discreet, Monseigneur. I said ‘Tiens! Me, I do not think I have met m’sieur before.’ It was not at all true, was it?”
“Never mind, child, it was a very proper reply. And now I am going to present you to a very old friend of mine who desires speech with you. Come, infant!”
“Qui est-ce?” she asked.
He walked slowly with her through the salons to the hall.
“It is M. de Richelieu, my child. You will be very polite to him.”
“Yes, Monseigneur,” she said docilely, and nodded her head to a young exquisite who was smiling at her and trying to catch her eye. “I have been very polite to everyone tonight. Except Rupert, of course.”
“That goes without saying,” said his Grace, and took her back into the ballroom.
A middle-aged exquisite was standing by the fire at one end, holding animated converse with a plump lady of some beauty. Avon waited until others had gathered about his lady, and then he went forward.
Richelieu saw him, and came to meet him.
“Ah, Justin, the promised introduction! Your beautiful ward!”
Léonie took her hand from Avon’s arm, and curtsied. Richelieu bowed to her, and took her hand, and patted it.
“Child, I envy Justin. Justin, go away! I shall look after mademoiselle very well without you.”
“I don’t doubt it,” said his Grace, and went away to find Lady Fanny.
Armand de Saint-Vire pounced on him as he crossed the hall.
“My friend, who is that girl?” he demanded. “I craved an introduction. Miladi Fanny was good enough to present me. I talked with the sprite—mon Dieu, qu’elle est jolie!—and all the time I asked myself: Who is she? Who is she?”
“And did you obtain an answer from yourself?” inquired his Grace.
“No, Justin, I did not! Therefore I ask you: Who is she?”
“She is my ward, dear Armand,” smiled his Grace, and passed on as Mademoiselle de la Vogue came up.
Fanny was in the refreshment room, with Davenant. She waved to Justin as he entered.
“I have earned a moment’s repose!” she said gaily. “Lud, Justin, I’ve presented a score of children to each other and never caught one of their names! Where’s Léonie?”
“With Richelieu,” he said. “No, Fanny, you need not to be alarmed. He is under oath to be discreet. Hugh, you have been a godsend to me this night.”
My lady began to fan herself.
“We have all of us worked a little,” she said. “My poor Edward is with the dowagers, playing at ombre, and Rupert has scarce been inside the card-room.”
“You have worked the hardest of us all,” said Hugh.
“Oh, but I have enjoyed myself so prodigiously!” she said. “Justin, I don’t know how many young beaux have not been making love to Léonie! Condé is ravished, he tells me. Do I not make a famous chaperon? When I present Léonie I feel fifty—yes, Hugh, positively I do!—but when I meet Raoul de Fontanges again—ah, then I am back in my teens!” She cast up her eyes.
But presently people began to take their leave, and at last they were alone again in the hall, tired but triumphant.
Rupert yawned prodigiously.
“Lord, what an evening! Burgundy, Hugh?” He poured out several glasses. “Fan, you’ve torn your lace.”
Fanny sank into a chair.
“My dear, I do not care if ’tis in ribbons. Léonie, my pet, you look worn out! Oh, my poor Edward, you did nobly with the dowagers!”
“Ah yes!” said his Grace. “I have to thank you, Edward. You were quite untiring. Infant, can you still hold your eyes open?”
“Yes, Monseigneur. Oh, madame, M. le Prince said that my dress was ravishing!”
“Ay—” Rupert shook his head at her. “I’d give something to know what you’ve been at this night, rogue! Did old Richelieu make love to you?”
“Oh no!” Léonie was surprised. “Why he is quite an old man!”
“Alas, poor Armand!” said his Grace. “Don’t tell him so, infant, I implore you.”
“Nor anyone, my love,” said her ladyship. “It would fly round Paris! He would be so chagrined!”
“Well, who did make love to you?” asked Rupert. “Besides Condé.”
“He didn’t, Rupert! No one did.” Léonie looked round innocently. “He only said I was a Fairy Princess. Yes, and he said that about my eyes.”
“If that’s not making—” Rupert encountered a glance from his brother, and broke off. “Oh ay! I’m dumb, never fear!”
“Monseigneur,” Léonie said. “I kept thinking it was a dream! If they knew I had been a
