"I had news of the rascal tonight," whispered Nash. "He lay at a farm
till yesterday, when he disappeared; his ruffians, too."

"You have arranged?" asked the Duke.

"Fourteen bailiffs are watching without. He could not come within
gunshot. If they clap eyes on him, they will hustle him to jail, and his
cutthroats shall not avail him a hair's weight. The impertinent swore
he'd be here by nine, did he?"

"He said so; and 'tis a rash dog, sir."

"It is just nine now."

"Send out to see if they have taken him."

"Gladly."

The Beau beckoned an attendant, and whispered in his ear.

Many of the crowd had edged up to the two gentlemen with apparent
carelessness, to overhear their conversation. Those who did overhear
repeated it in covert asides, and this circulating undertone, confirming
a vague rumor that Beaucaire would attempt the entrance that night, lent
a pleasurable color of excitement to the evening. The French prince, the
ambassador, and their suites were announced. Polite as the assembly
was, it was also curious, and there occurred a mannerly rush to see the
newcomers. Lady Mary, already pale, grew whiter as the throng closed
round her; she looked up pathetically at the Duke, who lost no time in
extricating her from the pressure.