inclined to be stout, and his dress and bearing were almost
bourgeois. His features were large and not particularly intelligent, his
cheeks were puffy, and his gray beard ill-humored. He had the double
neck of the Frenchman of the lower class who has not denied himself the
joys of the cuisine, and his appearance would have been hopelessly
commonplace but for the deep-set brilliant black eyes which lit up his
whole face and gave it an aspect of power.

"After _dejeuner_, you understand," he said. "It is well that your young
friend should not understand that I came here for no other reason. I
will see first your manuscripts, Monsieur le Duc."

The Duke waved his hand courteously to Guy as the two men passed along
on their way to the library. Henri resumed his seat with a little shrug
of the shoulders.

"My respected uncle will bring such strange people here to see his
manuscripts and collection of missals," he remarked. "For myself it is a
hobby which wearies me. And you, _mon cher_ Guy?"

"I know nothing about them," he answered. "But the gendarmes, Henri? Why
did they ride with your uncle's carriage?"

Henri smiled reassuringly.

"The old gentleman," he said, "has something to do with the Government,
and they were in attendance upon him. You can realize, my friend," he
added, "that you are indeed in a republican country. Such people must
have the _entree_ to our houses, even to our table. I presume that you
will have the pleasure of taking luncheon with him even."

A man-servant came out upon the terrace.

"Monsieur le Duc desires me to say that luncheon is served," he
announced.

Henri passed his arm through his friend's.

"Come," he said, "let us go and see if we can amuse ourselves with my
uncle's venerable friend. I do not suppose that he speaks English, but I
will interpret for you."

CHAPTER II

AN OLD STORY

Guy moved uneasily upon his chair. The color mounted almost to his
forehead. It was a humiliation this, upon which he had not counted.
Monsieur Grisson was sitting within a few feet of him. A serviette was
tucked carefully underneath his collar, and his face was a little
flushed with the exercise of eating. His eyes, however, were undimmed,
and his manners, although a little brusque, had certainly not merited
the epithet of bourgeois.

"It isn't much of a story," Guy began, making a desperate effort. "It
was my first visit to Paris, and I lost my head a bit. I drank too much
wine an