“Do you dream that' because Winterset introduces a low fellow he will be
tolerated--that Bath will receive a barber?”
“I have the distinction to call monsieur's attention,” replied the young
man gayly, “I have renounce that profession.”
“Fool!”
“I am now a man of honor!”
“Faugh!”
“A man of the parts,” continued the the young Frenchman, “and of
deportment; is it not so? Have you seen me of a fluster, or gross ever,
or, what sall I say--bourgeois? Shall you be shame' for your guest'
manner? No, no! And my appearance, is it of the people? Clearly, no. Do
I not compare in taste of apparel with your yo'ng Englishman? Ha, ha! To
be hope'. Ha, ha! So I am goin' talk with Lady Mary Carlisle.”
“Bah!” The Duke made a savage burlesque. “'Lady Mary Carlisle, may I
assume the honor of presenting the barber of the Marquis de Mirepoix?'
So, is it?”
“No, monsieur,” smiled the young man. “Quite not so. You shall have
nothing to worry you, nothing in the worl'. I am goin' to assassinate my
poor mustachio--also remove this horrible black peruke, and emerge in my
own hair. Behol'!” He swept the heavy curled, mass from his head as he
spoke, and his hair, coiled under the great wig, fell to his shoulders,
and sparkled yellow in the candle-light. He tossed his head to shake the
hair back from his cheeks. “When it is dress', I am transform nobody can
know me; you shall observe. See how little I ask of you, how very little
bit. No one shall reco'nize 'M. Beaucaire' or 'Victor.' Ha, ha! 'Tis all
arrange'; you have nothing to fear.”
“Curse you,” said the Duke, “do you think I'm going to be saddled with
you wherever I go as long as you choose?”
“A mistake. No. All I requi--All I beg--is this one evening. 'Tis all
shall be necessary. After, I shall not need monsieur.
“Take heed to yourself--after!” vouchsafed the Englishman between his
teeth.
“Conquered!” cried M. Beaucaire, and clapped his hands gleefully.
“Conquered for the night! Aha, it ts riz'nable! I shall meet what
you send--after. One cannot hope too much of your patience. It is but
natural you should attemp' a little avengement for the rascal trap I
was such a wicked fellow as to set for you. I shall meet some strange
frien's of yours after to-night; not so? I must try to be not too much
frighten'.” He looked at the Duke curiously. “You want to know why I
create this tragedy, why I am so unkind as to entrap monsieur?”
His Grace of Winterset replied with a chill glance; a pulse in the
nobleman's cheek beat less relentlessly; his eye raged not so bitterly;
the steady purple of his own color was returning; his voice was less
hoarse; he was regaining his habit. “'Tis ever the manner of the
vulgar,” he observed, “to wish to be seen with people of fashion.”
“Oh, no, no, no!” The Frenchman laughed. “'Tis not that. Am I not
already one of these 'men of fashion'? I lack only the reputation of
birth. Monsieur is goin' supply that. Ha, ha! I shall be noble from
to-night. 'Victor,' the artis', is condemn' to death; his throat shall
be cut with his own razor. 'M. Beaucaire--'” Here the young man sprang
to his feet, caught up the black wig, clapped into it a dice-box
from the table, and hurled it violently through the open door. “'M.
Beaucaire' shall be choke' with his own dice-box. Who is the Phoenix to
remain? What advantage have I not over other men of rank who are merely
born to it? I may choose my own. No! Choose for me, monsieur. Shall I
be chevalier, comte, vicomte, marquis, what? None. Out of compliment to
monsieur can I wish to be anything he is not? No, no! I shall be M.
le Duc, M. le Duc de--de Chateaurien. Ha, ha! You see? You are my
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
laugh! The war is open', and by me! There is one great step taken: until
to-night there was nothing for you to ruin, to-morrow you have got a
noble of France--your own protege--to besiege and sack. And you are
to lose, because you think such ruin easy, and because you understand
nothing--far less--of divinity. How could you know? You have not the
fiber; the heart of a lady is a blank to you; you know nothing of the
vibration. There are some words that were made only to tell of Lady
Mary, for her alone--bellissima, divine, glorieuse! Ah, how I have
watch' her! It is sad to me when I see her surround' by your yo'ng
captains, your nobles, your rattles, your beaux--ha, ha!--and I mus'
hol' far aloof. It is sad for me--but oh, jus' to watch her and to
wonder! Strange it is, but I have almos' cry out with rapture at a look
I have see' her give another man, so beautiful it was, so tender, so
dazzling of the eyes and so mirthful of the lips. Ah, divine coquetry! A
look for another, ah-i-me! for many others; and even to you, one day,
a rose, while I--I, monsieur, could not even be so blessed as to be
the groun' beneath her little shoe! But to-night, monsieur--ha,
ha!--to-night, monsieur, you and me, two princes, M. le Duc de
Winterset and M. le Duc de Chateaurien--ha, ha! you see?--we are goin'
arm-in-arm to that ball, and I am goin' have one of those looks, I! And
a rose! I! It is time. But ten minute', monsieur. I make my apology to
keep you waitin' so long while I go in the nex' room and execute my poor
mustachio--that will be my only murder for jus' this one evening--and
inves' myself in white satin. Ha, ha! I shall be very gran', monsieur.
Francois, send Louis to me; Victor, to order two chairs for monsieur and
me; we are goin' out in the worl' to-right!”