"You might just as well tell me, Paul Classon, that you 'd refuse to
marry them," said Davis, as he struck the table with his clenched fist,
"and that I would bear it! I have a way of not being denied what I have
determined on; that has done me good service in life. That blear-eyed
boy--the Attache at the Legation in Frankfort--wanted to refuse me a
passport for the Honorable Annesley Beecher and Mrs. Beecher, saying
that, until the marriage, there was no such person. But I whispered a
word to him across the table, and he gave it, and there it is now."

"Going to Italy!" said Classon, as he read from the document which
Grog had thrown down before him; "wonderful fellow,--wonderful
fellow,--forgets nothing!" muttered he to himself.

"Yes, but he does, though; he has just forgotten four kings and suffered
_you_ to count four queens, Master Paul,--a tribute to your agreeability
somewhat too costly."

"Even to the travelling-carriage, Kit," resumed Classon, not heeding the
sarcasm; "and a more complete thing I never saw in my life. You picked
it up at Frankfort."

"Yes, at the Hotel de Russie; got it for two thousand two hundred
francs,--it cost ten, six months ago. A quint in spades, and the cards
divided; I score thirty-one."

"And when is he to learn that he has succeeded to the title?"

"When he's across the Alps,--when he is out of the land of rouge et noir
and roulette; he may know it then, as soon as he pleases. I 'm to join
them at Como, or Milan, as I can't well 'show' at Baden, even at
this late time of year. Before I come up he 'll have heard all about
Lacking-ton's death."

"Will it ever occur to him, Kit, to suspect that you were aware of it?"

"I don't know; perhaps it may," said Grog, doggedly.

"If so, will the impression not lead to a very precarious state of
relations between you?"

"Maybe so,--seven hearts and five spades, you are 'capoted.' There,
Paul, that doesn't leave so much between us, after all. What if he does
suspect it? The world suspects fifty things about me that no man has
ever yet dared to lay to my charge. If you and I, Master Paul, were to
fret ourselves about the suspicions that are entertained of us, we'd
have a pleasant life of it. Your good health."

"To yours, my dear Kit; and may I never drink it in worse tipple would
be the only additional pleasure I could suggest to the toast. It is
wonderful Madeira!"

"I have had it in the London Docks since the year '81; every bot