ond was compelled to tell the story in much further detail
than before. The colonel ordered in a dozen of champagne, and it
was late before the party broke up.

"You see, we were pretty nearly right in our guess," O'Neil said,
as he and O'Sullivan walked across with Desmond to their quarters.
"We said that we thought it likely she might have been carried off
by one of the court gallants, who felt tolerably confident that,
if successful, the king would overlook the offence. This fellow,
thanks to your interference, did not succeed; and the king has let
him off, lightly enough, by only banishing him from court. If it
had been anyone but one of his favourites, he would, by this time,
have been a tenant of the Bastille.

"I do not think, myself, that his punishment was adequate; but
then, I am not a courtier, and should be rather glad than not, to
be sent away to any estates I might have."

"But," Desmond remarked, "I suppose the punishment is a severe one
to these men, accustomed to a round of pleasure and dissipation,
and who consider it the highest of earthly honours to be in favour
with the king. However, no one could be kinder than His Majesty
has been, on the subject. At the reception last night, at which he
ordered the baron and his daughter to appear, he showed her the
most marked favour, and particularly put a stop to all scandals,
by saying loudly that de Tulle had never seen her, after the first
morning of her capture."

Six days later, when Desmond was engaged in the fencing room,
Callaghan came in, and told him that a gentleman was at his
quarters, wishing particularly to see him.

"What is his name?"

"Sure, and I don't know, your honour. He did not mention it, and
it was not for the likes of me to ask him."

"Ridiculous, Mike! In future, when anyone comes and wishes to see
me, you will say, 'What name shall I tell Mr. Kennedy?'"

He put on his uniform coat reluctantly, for he was engaged in an
interesting bout with a professor, who was an old friend of the
maitre d'armes. As he entered his room, a young man, who had been
staring out of the window, and drumming impatiently with his
fingers, turned. He was a stranger to Desmond.

"I am Desmond Kennedy, sir," the young officer said. "To what do I
owe the honour of this visit?"

The other did not reply, but stood looking at him, in so strange
and earnest a way, that Desmond felt almost uneasy.

"Sir," his visitor said at last, advancing to him and