confrere."

M. Beaucaire trod a dainty step or two, waving his hand politely to the
Duke, as though in invitation to join the celebration of his rank.
The Englishman watched, his eye still and harsh, already gathering in
craftiness. Beaucaire stopped suddenly. "But how I forget my age! I am
twenty-three," he said, with a sigh. "I rejoice too much to be of the
quality. It has been too great for me, and I had always belief' myself
free of such ambition. I thought it was enough to behol' the opera
without wishing to sing; but no, England have teach' me I have those
vulgar desire'. Monsieur, I am goin' tell you a secret: the ladies of
your country are very diff'runt than ours. One may adore the demoiselle,
one must worship the lady of England. Our ladies have the--it is the
beauty of youth; yours remain comely at thirty. Ours are flowers, yours
are stars! See, I betray myself, I am so poor a patriot. And there is
one among these stars--ah, yes, there is one--the poor Frenchman has
observe' from his humble distance; even there he could bask in the
glowing!" M. Beaucaire turned to the window, and looked out into the
dark. He did not see the lights of the town. When he turned again, he
had half forgotten his prisoner; other pictures were before him.

"Ah, what radiance!" he cried. "Those people up over the sky, they want
to show they wish the earth to be happy, so they smile, and make this
lady. Gold-haired, an angel of heaven, and yet a Diana of the chase! I
see her fly by me on her great horse one day; she touch' his mane with
her fingers. I buy that clipping from the groom. I have it here with my
dear brother's picture. Ah, you! Oh, yes, you laugh! What do you know!
'Twas all I could get. But I have heard of the endeavor of M. le Duc to
recoup his fortunes. This alliance shall fail. It is not the way--that
heritage shall be safe' from him! It is you and me, monsieur! You can