y remained a few men. Sir Andrew
Ffoulkes had taken the precaution of closing the door after the ladies
had gone.

Then His Royal Highness turned once more to Monsieur Chauvelin and said
with an obvious show of indifference:

"Faith, Monsieur! meseems we are all enacting a farce, which can have
no final act. I vow that I cannot allow my friend Blakeney to go over to
France at your bidding. Your government now will not allow my father's
subjects to land on your shores without a special passport, and then
only for a specific purpose."

"La, your Royal Highness," interposed Sir Percy, "I pray you have no
fear for me on that score. My engaging friend here has--an I mistake
not--a passport ready for me in the pocket of his sable-hued coat, and
as we are hoping effectually to spit one another over there... gadzooks!
but there's the specific purpose.... Is it not true, sir," he added,
turning once more to Chauvelin, "that in the pocket of that exquisitely
cut coat of yours, you have a passport--name in blank perhaps--which you
had specially designed for me?"

It was so carelessly, so pleasantly said, that no one save Chauvelin
guessed the real import of Sir Percy's words. Chauvelin, of course, knew
their inner meaning: he understood that Blakeney wished to convey to him
the fact that he was well aware that the whole scene to-night had been
prearranged, and that it was willingly and with eyes wide open that he
walked into the trap which the revolutionary patriot had so carefully
laid for him.

"The passport will be forthcoming in due course, sir," retorted
Chauvelin evasively, "when our seconds have arranged all formalities."

"Seconds be demmed, sir," rejoined Sir Percy placidly, "you do not
propose, I trust, that we travel a whole caravan to France."

"Time, place and conditions must be settled, Sir Percy," replied
Chauvelin; "you are too accomplished a cavalier, I feel sure, to wish to
arrange such formalities yourself."

"Nay! neither you nor I, Monsieur... er... Chauvelin," quoth Sir Percy
blandly, "could, I own, settle such things with persistent good-humour;
and good-humour in such cases is the most important of all formalities.
Is it not so?"

"Certainly, Sir Percy."

"As for seconds? Perish the thought. One second only, I entreat, and
that one a lady--the most adorable--the most detestable--the most
true--the most fickle amidst all her charming sex.... Do you agree,
sir?"

"You have not told me her name,