nt as I felt was tempered by apprehension. I shot a swift
glance at Chatellerault to mark how he took this pleasantry and this
pledging of the lady whom the King had sent him to woo, but whom he
had failed to win. He had risen with the others at La Fosse's bidding,
either unsuspicious or else deeming suspicion too flimsy a thing by
which to steer conduct. Yet at the mention of her name a scowl darkened
his ponderous countenance. He set down his glass with such sudden force
that its slender stem was snapped and a red stream of wine streaked the
white tablecloth and spread around a silver flowerbowl. The sight of
that stain recalled him to himself and to the manners he had allowed
himself for a moment to forget.

"Bardelys, a thousand apologies for my clumsiness," he muttered.

"Spilt wine," I laughed, "is a good omen."

And for once I accepted that belief, since but for the shedding of that
wine and its sudden effect upon him, it is likely we had witnessed
a shedding of blood. Thus, was the ill-timed pleasantry of my
feather-brained La Fosse tided over in comparative safety. But the topic
being raised was not so easily abandoned. Mademoiselle de Lavedan grew
to be openly discussed, and even the Count's courtship of her came to be
hinted at, at first vaguely, then pointedly, with a lack of delicacy
for which I can but blame the wine with which these gentlemen had made
a salad of their senses. In growing alarm I watched the Count. But he
showed no further sign of irritation. He sat and listened as though no
jot concerned. There were moments when he even smiled at some lively
sally, and at last he went so far as to join in that merry combat of
wits, and defend himself from their attacks, which were made with a
good-humour that but thinly veiled the dislike he was held in and the
satisfaction that was culled from his late discomfiture.

For a while I hung back and took no share in the banter that was toward.
But in the end--lured perhaps by the spirit in which I have shown that
Chatellerault accepted it, and lulled by the wine which in common with
my guests I may have abused--I came to utter words but for which this
story never had been written.

"Chatellerault," I laughed, "abandon these defensive subterfuges;
confess that you are but uttering excuses, and acknowledge that you have
conducted this affair with a clumsiness unpardonable in one equipped
with your advantages of courtly rearing."

A flush overspread his fac