oved himself to be a gentleman and a
brave soldier."

"He drinks?"

"Only as a gentleman might; neither does he gamble."

"Ah!"

The governor drew figures on the dusty bottle at the side of his plate.

"If he does none of these things," said the marquis, "why can not he
live in peace here?"

"His . . . unfortunate history has followed him here."

"What?" The marquis's glass crashed upon the table and the wine crept
among the plates, soaking the marquis's sleeves and crimsoning his
elegant wristbands.

"What did you say?"

"Why," began the governor, startled and confused, "the history of his
birth is known." He looked at the walls, at the wine running about, at
the floor, at everything save the flashing eyes opposite.

"So the fool has told it here?" harshly. "Bah! let him rot here, then;
fool!"

"But he has said nothing; no one knew till . . ."

"Oh! then it was not Monsieur le Comte who spoke?"

"Monsieur le Comte?"

"That is the title which my son bears."

"Good God, Monsieur, then what is all this about?"

"It will take some time to tell it, Monsieur," said the marquis,
shaking his sleeves and throwing salt upon the table. "First, I wish
to know the name of the man who started the story."

"Monsieur de Leviston, of Montreal, prompted by I know not whom."

"De Leviston. I shall remember that name."

"There was a duel fought."

"A duel? Who were the participants?"

"The Vicomte d'Halluys against the Comte d'Herouville, and Monsieur de
Saumaise against De Leviston. D'Herouville and De Leviston are both in
hospital."

"D'Herouville? What had he to do with the affair?"

"He laughed," said the governor; "he laughed when De Leviston accused
your son of not knowing who his mother was."

"Thank you, Monsieur. I see that you are in great puzzle. Let me
solve the puzzle for you. I have always been a man of quick and
violent temper, and sometimes this temper has been that of the fool.
The wisest of us make mistakes. I have made a grievous one. In a
moment of anger . . ." He ceased, taking up the stem of the broken
glass and twirling it. "In a moment of anger, then, I did Monsieur le
Comte a most grievous wrong, a wrong for which I can never fully atone.
We have never been on friendly terms since his refusal to wed a young
woman of my choice, Mademoiselle de Montbazon. I had never seen this
daughter, nor had my son. Paris life, Monsieur, as doubtless you know,
is ruinous to youth.