him las' year, after when he play' with Milor' Tappin'ford at the
chocolate-house--"

"You dirty scandal-monger!" the Duke burst out. "I'll--"

"Monsieur, monsieur!" said the Frenchman. "It is a poor valor to insult
a helpless captor. Can he retort upon his own victim? But it is for you
to think of what I say. True, I am not reco'nize on the parade; that my
frien's who come here do not present me to their ladies; that Meestaire
Nash has reboff' me in the pomp-room; still, am I not known for being
hones' and fair in my play, and will I not be belief, even I, when I
lif' my voice and charge you aloud with what is already w'isper'? Think
of it! You are a noble, and there will be some hang-dogs who might not
fall away from you. Only such would be lef' to you. Do you want it tol'?
And you can keep out of France, monsieur? I have lef' his service, but
I have still the ear of M. de Mirepoix, and he know' I never lie. Not a
gentleman will play you when you come to Paris."

The Englishman's white lip showed a row of scarlet dots upon it. "How
much do you want?" he said.

The room rang with the gay laughter of Beaucaire. "I hol' your note' for
seven-hunder' pound'. You can have them, monsieur. Why does a such great
man come to play M. Beaucaire? Because no one else willin' to play M.
le Duc--he cannot pay. Ha, ha! So he come' to good Monsieur Beaucaire.
Money, ha, ha! What I want with money?"

His Grace of Winterset's features were set awry to a sinister pattern.
He sat glaring at his companion in a snarling silence.