like
that."

Francezka had sat still, trying to master her indignation at Jacques
Haret's presumption. But that was no restraint on him. He began, in a
pleasant tone of old acquaintanceship, to Gaston:

"I suppose, Gaston, you and Madame Cheverny travel often to
Versailles?"

"Not very often," replied Gaston, recovering something of ease now
that the conversation had turned away from the unlucky clothes.
"Madame Cheverny has danced in several ballets before the king, and
has been to the masquerades, but neither of us is made to be a
hanger-on of courts."

"Good for you," replied Jacques Haret. "I knew something of the folly
of that in my childhood. My father was a born hanger-on of courts, as
you express it. Some wag declared that my father's epitaph ought to
be: 'Here lies one who was born a man and died a courtier.' Your old
Peter can tell you some stories of how my father chased after kings."

This mention of Peter disgusted us all, and was an indignity that
Francezka could not stand. She rose, and casting back at Jacques Haret
one of those looks which, on the stage, had thrilled all who saw her,
she walked like an insulted queen across the green sward toward the
house. Madame Riano followed, for once disdainfully silent. Jacques
Haret looked about him with the most innocent air in the world.

"Now, what have I done to offend the ladies?" he asked.

"I don't think you are exactly a favorite with _these_ ladies,"
replied Gaston, smiling.

I listened in wonderment. Was it possible that Francezka had not told
Gaston the story of Lisa? For he acted as if he knew nothing of it.
However, I had my views about Jacques Haret's presence there, so I
rose, too, and bade Gaston a ceremonious adieu, and said nothing at
all to Jacques Haret. It did not discompose him in the least, and
again taking out his snuff-box, Gaston Cheverny's snuff-box, he began
to hum _Sur le pont d'Avignon_. That air seemed to be a favorite of
his. I had gone about half way across the garden, and it being large,
I was out of sight and sound of Gaston and Jacques Haret, when I heard
Gaston at my heels, calling "Hold!" I stopped and he joined me, with
an expression both of amusement and annoyance on his face.

"I am in a damnably awkward place, Babache," he said. "Of course, we
all know about Jacques Haret, but the fellow has been permitted in all
the houses where the Harets have been received for generations. You
remember well, after that exped