devote' to me, and monsieur is alone. Could it be that he did not wish
even his lackeys to know he play with the yo'ng Frenchman who Meestaire
Nash does not like in the pomp-room? Monsieur is unfortunate to have
come on foot and alone to my apartment."

The Duke's mouth foamed over with chaotic revilement. His captor
smiled brightly, and made a slight gesture, as one who brushes aside
a boisterous insect. With the same motion he quelled to stony quiet a
resentful impetus of his servants toward the Englishman.

"It's murder, is it, you carrion!" finished the Duke.

M. Beaucaire lifted his shoulders in a mock shiver. "What words! No, no,
no! No killing! A such word to a such host! No, no, not mur-r-der; only
disgrace!" He laughed a clear, light laugh with a rising inflection,
seeming to launch himself upon an adventurous quest for sympathy.

"You little devilish scullion!" spat out the Duke.

"Tut, tut! But I forget. Monsieur has pursue' his studies of deportment
amongs' his fellow-countrymen.

"Do you dream a soul in Bath will take your word that I--that I--"

"That M. le Duc de Winterset had a card up his sleeve?"

"You pitiful stroller, you stableboy, born in a stable--"

"Is it not an honor to be born where monsieur must have been bred?"