“Look!” he said.
“Oh, oh!” she whispered with a dry throat, and fell back in the
carriage.
“Is it so?” cried the Duke.
“I do not know.--I--cannot tell.”
“One moment more. I begged these gentlemen to allow me to wipe out the
insult I had unhappily offered to Bath, but particularly to you. They
agreed not to forestall me or to interfere. I left Sir John Wimpledon's
early, and arranged to give the sorry rascal a lashing under your own
eyes, a satisfaction due the lady into whose presence he had dared to
force himself.”
“'Noblesse oblige'?” said M. Beaucaire in a tone of gentle inquiry.
“And now, madam,” said the Duke, “I will detain you not one second
longer. I plead the good purpose of my intentions, begging you to
believe that the desire to avenge a hateful outrage, next to the wish to
serve you, forms the dearest motive in the heart of Winterset.”
“Bravo!” cried Beaucaire softly.
Lady Mary leaned toward him, a thriving terror in her eyes. “It is
false?” she faltered.
“Monsieur should not have been born so high. He could have made little
book'.”
“You mean it is false?” she cried breathlessly.
“'Od's blood, is she not convinced?” broke out Mr. Bantison. “Fellow,
were you not the ambassador's barber?”
“It is all false?” she whispered.
“The mos' fine art, mademoiselle. How long you think it take M. de
Winterset to learn that speech after he write it out? It is a mix of
what is true and the mos' chaste art. Monsieur has become a man of
letters. Perhaps he may enjoy that more than the wars. Ha, ha!”
Mr. Bantison burst into a roar of laughter. “Do French gentlemen
fight lackeys? Ho, ho, ho! A pretty country! We English do as was done
to-night, have our servants beat them.”
“And attend ourselves,” added M. Beaucaire, looking at the Duke,
“somewhat in the background? But, pardon,” he mocked, “that remind' me.
Francois, return to Mr. Bantison and these gentlemen their weapons.”
“Will you answer a question?” said Molyneux mildly.
“Oh, with pleasure, monsieur.”
“Were you ever a barber?”
“No, monsieur,” laughed the young man.
“Pah!” exclaimed Bantison. “Let me question him. Now, fellow, a
confession may save you from jail. Do you deny you are Beaucaire?”
“Deny to a such judge?”
“Ha!” said Bantison. “What more do you want, Molyneux? Fellow, do you
deny that you came to London in the ambassador's suite?”
“No, I do not deny.”
“He admits it! Didn't you come as his barber?”
“Yes, my frien', as his barber.” Lady Mary cried out faintly, and,
shuddering, put both hands over her eyes.
“I'm sorry,” said Molyneux. “You fight like a gentleman.”
“I thank you, monsieur.”
“You called yourself Beaucaire?”
“Yes, monsieur.” He was swaying to and fro; his servants ran to support
him.
“I wish--” continued Molyneux, hesitating. “Evil take me!--but I'm
sorry you're hurt.”
“Assist Sir Hugh into my carriage,” said Lady Mary.
“Farewell, mademoiselle!” M. Beaucaire's voice was very faint. His eyes
were fixed upon her face. She did not look toward him.
They were propping Sir Hugh on the cushions. The Duke rode up close to
Beaucaire, but Francois seized his bridle fiercely, and forced the horse
back on its haunches.
“The man's servants worship him,” said Molyneux.
“Curse your insolence!” exclaimed the Duke. “How much am I to bear from
this varlet and his varlets? Beaucaire, if you have not left Bath by
to-morrow noon, you will be clapped into jail, and the lashing you
escaped to-night shall be given you thrice tenfold!”
“I shall be-in the--Assemily--Room' at nine--o'clock, one week
--from--to-night,” answered the young man, smiling jauntily, though
his lips were colorless. The words cost him nearly all his breath and
strength. “You mus' keep--in the--backgroun', monsieur. Ha, ha!” The
door of the coach closed with a slam.
“Mademoiselle--fare--well!”
“Drive on!” said Lady Mary.
M. Beaucaire followed the carriage with his eyes. As the noise of the
wheels and the hoof-beats of the accompanying cavalcade grew fainter in
the distance, the handkerchief he had held against his side dropped into
the white dust, a heavy red splotch.
“Only--roses,” he gasped, and fell back in the arms of his servants.