LOUIS DE SOYECOURT, formerly GRAND DUKE OF NOUMARIA, and now a tuner of pianofortes.
DUC DE PUYSANGE.
DAMIENS, servant to Ormskirk.
In Dumb Show are presented LORD HUMPHREY DEGGE, CAPTAIN FRANCIS AUDAINE, MR. GEORGE ERWYN, DUCHESS OF ORMSKIRK, DUCHESSE DE PUYSANGE, LADY HUMPHREY DEGGE, MRS. AUDAINE, and MRS. ERWYN.
SCENE
The library, and afterward the dining-room, of Ormskirk's home at Ingilby, in Westmoreland.
LOVE'S ALUMNI
The Grand Duke did not return to breakfast nor to dinner, nor, in point of fact, to Noumaria. For the second occasion Louis de Soyecourt had vanished at the spiriting of boredom; and it is gratifying to record that his evasion passed without any train of turmoil.
The Grand Duchess seemed to disapprove of her bereavement, mildly, but only said, 'Well, after all—!'
She saw to it that the ponds about the palace were dragged conscientiously, and held an interview with the Chief of Police, and more lately had herself declared Regent of Noumaria.
She proved a capable and popular ruler, who when she began to take lovers allowed none of them to meddle with politics: so all went well enough in Noumaria, and nobody evinced the least desire to hasten either the maturity of young Duke Anthony or the reappearance of his father.
I
Meantime had come to Ingilby, the Duke of Ormskirk's place in Westmoreland, a smallish blue-eyed vagabond who requested audience with his Grace, and presently got it, for the Duke, since his retirement from public affairs, [Footnote: He returned to office during the following year, as is well known, immediately before the attempted assassination of the French King, in the January of 1757.] had become approachable by almost any member of the public.
The man came Into the library, smiling, 'I entreat your pardon, Monsieur le Duc,' he began, 'that I have not visited you sooner. But in unsettled times, you comprehend, the master of a beleaguered fortress is kept busy. This poor fortress of my body has been of late most resolutely besieged by poverty and hunger, the while that I have been tramping about Europe—in search of Gaston. Now, they tell me, he is here.'
The travesty of their five-year-old interview at Bellegarde so tickled Ormskirk's fancy that he laughed heartily. 'Damiens,' said Ormskirk, to the attendant lackey, 'go fetch me a Protestant minister from Manneville, and have a gallows erected in one of the drawing-rooms. I intend to pay off an old score.' Meantime he was shaking the little vagabond's hand, chuckling and a-beam with hospitality.
'Your Grace—!' said Damiens, bewildered.
'Well, go, in any event,' said Ormskirk. 'Oh, go anywhere, man!—to the devil, for instance.'
His eyes, followed the retreating lackey. 'As I suspect in the end you will,' Ormskirk said, inconsequently. 'Still, you are a very serviceable fellow, my good Damiens. I have need of you.'
And with a shrug he now began, 'Your Highness,—'
'Praise God, no!' observed the other, fervently.
And Ormskirk nodded his comprehension. 'Monsieur de Soyecourt, then. Of course, we heard of your disappearance, I have been expecting something of the sort for years. And,—frankly, politics are often a nuisance, as both Gaston and myself will willingly attest,—especially,' he added, with a grimace, 'since war between France and England became inevitable through the late happenings in India and Nova Scotia, and both our wives flatly declined to let either of us take part therein,—for fear we might catch our death of cold by sleeping in those draughty tents. Faith, you have descended, sir, like an agreeable meteor, upon two of the most scandalously henpecked husbands in all the universe. In fact, you will not find a gentleman at Ingilby—save Mr. Erwyn, perhaps —but is an abject slave to his wife, and in consequence most abjectly content.'
'You have guests, then?' said de Soyecourt. '
'Were it not for the fact that you are wealthy, and yet, so long as you preserve your incognito, and remain legally dead, you cannot touch a penny of your fortune! The situation is droll. We must arrange it. Meanwhile you are my guest, and I can assure you that at Ingilby you will be to all Monsieur de Soyecourt, no more and no less. Now let us see what can be done about clothing Monsieur de Soyecourt for dinner—'
'But I could not consider—' Monsieur de Soyecourt protested.
'I must venture to remind you,' the Duke retorted, 'that dinner is almost ready, and that Claire is the sort of housewife who would more readily condone fratricide or arson than cold soup.'
'It is odd,' little de Soyecourt said, with complete irrelevance, 'that in the end I should get aid of you and of Gaston. And it is odd you should be forgiving my bungling attempts at crime, so lightly—'
Ormskirk considered, a new gravity in his plump face. 'Faith, but we find it more salutary, in looking back, to consider some peccadilloes of our own. And we bear no malice, Gaston and I,—largely, I suppose, because contentment is a great encourager of all the virtues. Then, too, we remember that to each of us, at the eleventh hour, and through no merit of his own, was given the one thing worth while in life. We did not merit it; few of us merit anything, for few of us are at bottom either very good or very bad. Nay, my friend, for the most part we are blessed or damned as Fate elects, and hence her favorites may not in reason contemn her victims. For myself, I observe the king upon his throne and the thief upon his coffin, in passage for the gallows; and I pilfer my phrase and I apply it to either spectacle:
De Soyecourt yielded. He was shown to his rooms, and Ormskirk rang for Damiens, whom the Duke was sending into France to attend to a rather important assassination.
II
At dinner Louis de Soyecourt made divers observations.
First Gaston had embraced him. 'And the de Gatinais estates?—but beyond question, my dear Louis! Next week we return to France, and the affair is easily arranged. You may abdicate in due form, you need no longer skulk about Europe disguised as a piano-tuner; it is all one to France, you conceive, whether you or your son reign in Noumaria. You should have come to me sooner. As for your having been in love with my wife, I could not well quarrel with that, since the action would seriously reflect upon my own taste, who am still most hideously in love with her.'
Helene had stoutened. Monsieur de Soyecourt noted also that Helene's gold hair was silvering now, as though Time had tangled cobwebs through it, and that Gaston was profoundly unconscious of the fact. In Gaston's eyes she was at the most seventeen. Well, Helene had always been admirable in her management of all, and it would be diverting to see that youngest child of hers…. Meanwhile it was diverting also to observe how