ecorum pervaded the fine apartment; it sought out every corner of the
vast reception room, flickered round every wax candle; it spread itself
over the monumental hearth, the stiff brocade-covered chairs, the gilt
consoles and tall mirrors. It emanated alike from the graciousness of M.
le Comte de Cambray and the pompousness of his majordomo. Hector in fact
appeared at this moment as the high priest in a temple of good manners
and bon ton: the muscles of his face were rigid, his mouth was set as if
ready to pronounce sacrificial words; in his right hand he carried a
gold-headed wand, emblem of his high office.

But suddenly there was a disturbance--an unseemly noise came from the
further end of the corridor, where rose the magnificent staircase.
Hector's face became a study in rapidly changing expressions: from
pompousness, to astonishment, then horror, and finally wrath when he
realised that an intruder in stained cloth clothes and booted and
spurred was actually making his way through the ranks of liveried and
gaping servants and loudly demanding to speak with M. le Comte.

Such an unseemly disturbance had not occurred at the Chateau de
Brestalou since Hector had been installed there as majordomo nearly
twelve months ago, and he was on the point of literally throwing
himself upon the impious malapert who thus dared to thrust his ill-clad
person upon the brilliant company, when he paused--more aghast than
before. In this same impious malapert he had recognised M. le Marquis de
St. Genis!

The young man looked to be labouring under terrible excitement: his face
was flushed and he was panting as if he had been running hard:

"M. le Comte!" he cried breathlessly as soon as he caught sight of
Hector, "tell M. le Comte that I must speak with him at once."

"But M. le Marquis . . . M. le Marquis . . ."

This was all that poor, bewildered Hector could stammer: his
slowly-moving brain was torn between the duties of his position and his
respect for M. le Marquis, and in the struggle the worthy man was
enduring throes of anxiety.

Fortunately M. le Comte himself put an end to Hector's dilemma. He had
recognised St. Genis' voice. Unlike his majordomo, he knew at once that
something terribly grave must have happened, else the young man would
never have committed such a serious breach of good manners. And M. le
Comte himself was never at a loss how to turn any situation to a
dignified and proper issue: he murmured a quick and