d, and showed a face that pain was searing.
He held out his hand. "Very well, Charles. Serve me in this, and count
me your friend in all things."

CHAPTER XI. THE FRACAS AT THE THEATRE FEYDAU

Leaving his host to act as his plenipotentiary with Mademoiselle de
Kercadiou, and to explain to her that it was his profound contrition
that compelled him to depart without taking formal leave of her, the
Marquis rolled away from Sautron in a cloud of gloom. Twenty-four hours
with La Binet had been more than enough for a man of his fastidious
and discerning taste. He looked back upon the episode with nausea--the
inevitable psychological reaction--marvelling at himself that until
yesterday he should have found her so desirable, and cursing himself
that for the sake of that ephemeral and worthless gratification he
should seriously have imperilled his chances of winning Mademoiselle de
Kercadiou to wife. There is, after all, nothing very extraordinary in
his frame of mind, so that I need not elaborate it further. It resulted
from the conflict between the beast and the angel that go to make up the
composition of every man.

The Chevalier de Chabrillane--who in reality occupied towards the Marquis
a position akin to that of gentleman-in-waiting--sat opposite to him in
the enormous travelling berline. A small folding table had been erected
between them, and the Chevalier suggested piquet. But M. le Marquis was
in no humour for cards. His thoughts absorbed him. As they were rattling
over the cobbles of Nantes' streets, he remembered a promise to La Binet
to witness her performance that night in "The Faithless Lover." And now
he was running away from her. The thought was repugnant to him on two
scores. He was breaking his pledged word, and he was acting like a
coward. And there was more than that. He had led the mercenary little
strumpet--it was thus he thought of her at present, and with some
justice--to expect favours from him in addition to the lavish awards
which already he had made her. The baggage had almost sought to drive a
bargain with him as to her future. He was to take her to Paris, put her
into her own furniture--as the expression ran, and still runs--and under
the shadow of his powerful protection see that the doors of the great
theatres of the capital should be opened to her talents. He had not--he
was thankful to reflect--exactly committed himself. But neither had
he definitely refused her. It became necessary n