"Ridiculous, Mike! In future, when anyone comes and wishes to see
me, you will say, 'What name shall I tell Mr. Kennedy?'"

He put on his uniform coat reluctantly, for he was engaged in an
interesting bout with a professor, who was an old friend of the
maitre d'armes. As he entered his room, a young man, who had been
staring out of the window, and drumming impatiently with his
fingers, turned. He was a stranger to Desmond.

"I am Desmond Kennedy, sir," the young officer said. "To what do I
owe the honour of this visit?"

The other did not reply, but stood looking at him, in so strange
and earnest a way, that Desmond felt almost uneasy.

"Sir," his visitor said at last, advancing to him and holding out
both hands, "when I tell you that my name is Philip de la Vallee,
you will understand what must strike you as my singular behaviour.
I arrived last night at Versailles, and heard all that had
happened. You can imagine, therefore, that my heart is almost too
full for words, with gratitude and thankfulness."

Desmond was moved by the emotion of his visitor, and their hands
met in a hearty clasp. Monsieur de la Vallee was a young man, of
four or five and twenty, well proportioned, and active and sinewy
from his devotion to field sports. He was about the same height as
Desmond himself, but the latter, who had not yet finished growing,
was larger boned, and would broaden into a much bigger and more
powerful man.