"I shall not forget my day here," I assured her.

"You won't? It's charming of you. Oh, how dull it will be now! It only
wanted the arrival of--Well, good-by!"

And with a final and long pressure of the duchess' hand, I, in the garb
and personality of George Sampson, dismissed for drunkenness, walked out
of the gate of the _château_.

"One thing," I observed to myself as I started, "would seem highly
probable--and that is, that this sort of thing has happened before."

The idea did not please me. I like to do things first.




CHAPTER IV.

The Duchess Defines Her Position.


I walked on at a leisurely pace; the heavy carriage was very near the top
of the hill. In about three minutes' time we met. There sat alone in the
carriage a tall dark man, with a puffy white face, a heavy mustache, and
stern cold eyes. He was smoking a cigar. I plucked my hat from my head and
made as if to pass by.

"Who's this?" he called out, stopping the carriage.