lief!
My Molyneux I sen' for, and tell him all, because he show courtesy
to the yo'ng Frenchman, and I can trus' him. I trus' you,
mademoiselle--long ago--and would have tol' you ev'rything, excep' jus'
because--well, for the romance, the fon! You belief? It is so clearly
so; you do belief, mademoiselle?"

She did not even look at him. M. Beaucaire lifted his hand appealingly
toward her. "Can there be no faith in--in--he said timidly, and paused.
She was silent, a statue, my Lady Disdain.

"If you had not belief' me to be an impostor; if I had never said I was
Chateaurien; if I had been jus' that Monsieur Beaucaire of the story
they tol' you, but never with the heart of a lackey, an hones' man, a
man, the man you knew, himself, could you--would you--" He was trying
to speak firmly; yet, as he gazed upon her splendid beauty, he
choked slightly, and fumbled in the lace at his throat with unsteady
fingers.--"Would you--have let me ride by your side in the autumn
moonlight?" Her glance passed by him as it might have passed by a
footman or a piece of furniture. He was dressed magnificently, a
multitude of orders glittering on his breast. Her eye took no knowledge
of him.

"Mademoiselle-I have the honor to ask you: if you had known this
Beaucaire was hones', though of peasant birth, would you--"

Involuntarily, controlled as her icy presence was, she shuddered. There
was a moment of silence.

"Mr. Molyneux," said Lady Mary, "in spite of your discourtesy in
allowing a servant to address me, I offer you a last chance to leave
this room undisgraced. Will you give me your arm?"

"Pardon me, madam," said Mr. Molyneux.

Beaucaire dropped into a chair with his head bent low and his arm
outstretched on the table; his eyes filled slowly in spite of himself,
and two tears rolled down the young man's cheeks.

"An' live men are jus'--names!" said M. Beaucaire.

Chapter Six

In the outer room, Winterset, unable to find Lady Mary, and supposing
her to have joined Lady Rellerton, disposed of his negus, then
approached the two visitors to pay his respects to the young prince,
whom he discovered to be a stripling of seventeen, arrogant looking,
but pretty as a girl. Standing beside the Marquis de Mirepoix--a man of
quiet bearing--he was surrounded by a group of the great, among whom Mr.
Nash naturally counted himself. The Beau was felicitating himself that
the foreigners had not arrived a week earlier, in which case he and