sat furtive and uncomfortable. Lecour experienced
a sensation of his own immense inferiority to the grand soldier who was
sitting as his judge, and he felt helpless and uncertain in such hands.

"Adjutant," began the Marshal, "where are the parties? Is this gentleman
Monsieur de Lincy?"

Collinot assented. Germain bowed and turned ghostly white.

"Have you examined his credentials, and how do you find them?"

"They appear correct, my Lord Duke."

"Are the accusers not here?"

"Perhaps they are delayed, my Lord."

"It is a grave thing to keep a man in suspense over an accusation."

All waited silently several minutes. Every second seemed to pull with
the tug of a cable on Germain's beating heart.

The door opened. In hurried the Chevalier de Villerai, heated, rubicund,
confused, and his uniform partly in disorder, saluting the Marshal as if
bereft of his senses.

"Your Excellency--your Grace, I mean--I--I--most humbly--your
Excellency--ah--pardon me, your Grace."

"Entirely, Quartermaster. You represent Monsieur de Lery, I presume?"

"Yes, but--but--but----" Villerai stammered, and stopped, his face
growing redder.

"Proceed quite tranquilly, Monsieur de Villerai," the Marshal remarked.
"What accusation do you bring against Monsieur de Lincy?"

Villerai cast an uncomfortable glance at Germain, then he blurted out
"That he is--an--some say an im----. I confess I know nothing against
the gentleman myself--he seems to be a very nice young man, but Monsieur
de Lery says he is something of that sort."

"And that his proper title is not de Lincy, but that he is the son of a
merchant in Canada who is no noble?" Collinot added.

"You know nothing against him yourself?" Beauveau asked of Villerai.

"Nothing myself, very true."

"You bring evidence, then?"

"My Lord--Marshal we have no evidence. I throw myself on your
goodness--I had some papers with the contents of which I am
unacquainted--but where they are I--I--pardon me your Excellency--this
is a very unfortunate affair."

"I think so, Monsieur de Villerai. Your friends have brought to trial a
perfectly innocent man--they have allowed him, for several months, to
remain under the intolerable vexations of the ban of society, and to
stand deprived of his birthright as a gentleman--have destroyed him at
Court--have almost blighted his career--have forced him to expose his
life to the ocean, to take far-off and highly perilous journeys to
collect his defen