ble means of inquiry as
to the failure of Forest King, and to discuss with other members of the
Newmarket and foreign jockey clubs the best methods--if method there
were--of discovering what foul play had been on foot with the horse.
That there was some, and very foul too, the testimony of men and angels
would not have dissuaded the Seraph; and the event had left him most
unusually grave and regretful.

The amount he had lost himself, in consequence, was of not the slightest
moment to him, although he was extravagant enough to run almost to the
end even of his own princely tether in money matters; but that "Beauty"
should be cut down was more vexatious to him than any evil accident that
could have befallen himself, and he guessed pretty nearly the terrible
influence the dead failure would have on his friend's position.

True, he had never heard Cecil breathe a syllable that hinted at
embarrassment; but these things get known with tolerable accuracy about
town, and those who were acquainted, as most people in their set were,
with the impoverished condition of the Royallieu exchequer, however
hidden it might be under an unabated magnificence of living, were well
aware also that none of the old Viscount's sons could have any safe
resources to guarantee them from as rapid a ruin as they liked to
consummate. Indeed, it had of late been whispered that it was probable,
despite the provisions of the entail, that all the green wealth and
Norman Beauty of Royallieu itself would come into the market. Hence the
Seraph, the best-hearted and most generous-natured of men, was worried
by an anxiety and a despondency which he would never have indulged, most
assuredly, on his own account, as he rode away from Iffesheim after the
defeat of his Corps' champion.

He was expected to dinner with one of the most lovely of foreign
Ambassadresses, and was to go with her afterward to the Vaudeville, at
the pretty golden theater, where a troupe from the Bouffes were playing;
but he felt anything but in the mood for even her bewitching and--in
an marriageable sense--safe society, as he stopped his horse at his own
hotel, the Badischer Hof.

As he swung himself out of saddle, a well-dressed, quiet, rather
handsome little man drew near respectfully, lifting his hat--it was M.
Baroni. The Seraph had never seen the man in his life that he knew of,
but he was himself naturally frank, affable, courteous, and never given
to hedging himself behind the