. A man of great heart, as you say, though with
a reputation for oddity. If I were not the well-wisher of his house,
I could make some trouble about his devotion to the dress and arms
forbidden here to all but those in the king's service, as I am myself,
being major of the local Fencibles. And--by the Lord! here's MacCailen!"

They had by this time entered the policies of the Duke. A figure walked
alone in the obscurity, with arms in a characteristic fashion behind its
back, going in the direction they themselves were taking. For a second
or two the Chamberlain hesitated, then formed his resolution.

"I shall introduce you," he said to Count Victor. "It may be of some
service afterwards."

The Duke turned his face in the darkness, and, as they came alongside,
recognised his Chamberlain.

"Good evening, good evening!" he cried cheerfully. "'Art a late bird, as
usual, and I am at that pestilent task the rehearsal of a speech."

"Your Grace's industry is a reproach to your Grace's Chamberlain," said
the latter. "I have been at the speech-making myself, partly to a lady."

"Ah, Mr. MacTaggart!" cried the Duke in a comical expostulation.

"And partly to this unfortunate friend of mine, who must fancy us a
singularly garrulous race this side of the German Ocean. May I introduce
M. Montaiglon, who is at the inn below, and whom it has been my good
fortune to meet for the first time to-night?"

Argyll was most cordial to the stranger, who, however, took the earliest
opportunity to plead fatigue and return to his inn. He had no sooner
retired than the Duke expressed some natural curiosity.

"It cannot be the person you desired for the furnishing of our tolbooth
the other day, Sim?" said he.

"No less," frankly responded the Chamberlain. "Your Grace saved me a
_faux pas_ there, for Montaiglon is not what I fancied at all."

"You were ever the dubious gentleman, Sim," laughed his Grace. "And
what--if I may take the liberty--seeks our excellent and impeccable Gaul
so far west?"

"He's a wine merchant," said the Chamberlain, and at that the Duke
laughed.

"What, man!" he cried at last, shaking with his merriment, "is our
ancient Jules from Oporto to be ousted with the aid of Sim MacTaggart
from the ducal cellars in favour of one Montaiglon?" He stopped, caught
his Chamberlain by the arm, and stood close in an endeavour to perceive
his countenance. "Sim," said he, "I wonder what Modene would say to find
his cousin hawki