In the outer room, Winterset, unable to find Lady Mary, and supposing
her to have joined Lady Rellerton, disposed of his negus, then
approached the two visitors to pay his respects to the young prince,
whom he discovered to be a stripling of seventeen, arrogant looking,
but pretty as a girl. Standing beside the Marquis de Mirepoix--a man of
quiet bearing--he was surrounded by a group of the great, among whom Mr.
Nash naturally counted himself. The Beau was felicitating himself that
the foreigners had not arrived a week earlier, in which case he and Bath
would have been detected in a piece of gross ignorance concerning the
French nobility--making much of de Mirepoix's ex-barber.
“'Tis a lucky thing that fellow was got out of the way,” he ejaculated,
under cover.
“Thank me for it,” rejoined Winterset.
An attendant begged Mr. Nash's notice. The head bailiff sent word that
Beaucaire had long since entered the building by a side door. It was
supposed Mr. Nash had known of it, and the Frenchman was not arrested,
as Mr. Molyneux was in his company, and said he would be answerable for
him. Consternation was so plain on the Beau's trained face that the Duke
leaned toward him anxiously.
“The villain's in, and Molyneux hath gone mad!”
Mr. Bantison, who had been fiercely elbowing his way toward them, joined
heads with them. “You may well say he is in,” he exclaimed “and if you
want to know where, why, in yonder card-room. I saw him through the
half-open door.”
“What's to be done?” asked the Beau.
“Send the bailiffs--”
“Fie, fie! A file of bailiffs? The scandal!”
“Then listen to me,” said the Duke. “I'll select half-a-dozen gentlemen,
explain the matter, and we'll put him in the center of us and take him
out to the bailiffs. 'Twill appear nothing. Do you remain here and
keep the attention of Beaujolais and de Mirepoix. Come, Bantison, fetch
Townbrake and Harry Rakell yonder; I'll bring the others.”
Three minutes later, his Grace of Winterset flung wide the card-room
door, and, after his friends had entered, closed it.
“Ah!” remarked M. Beaucaire quietly. “Six more large men.”
The Duke, seeing Lady Mary, started; but the angry signs of her
interview had not left her face, and reassured him. He offered his hand
to conduct her to the door. “May I have the honor?”
“If this is to be known, 'twill be better if I leave after; I should be
observed if I went now.”
“As you will, madam,” he answered, not displeased. “And now, you
impudent villain,” he began, turning to M. Beaucaire, but to fall back
astounded. “'Od's blood, the dog hath murdered and robbed some royal
prince!” He forgot Lady Mary's presence in his excitement. “Lay hands on
him!” he shouted. “Tear those orders from him!”
Molyneux threw himself between. “One word!” he cried. “One word before
you offer an outrage you will repent all your lives!”
“Or let M. de Winterset come alone,” laughed M. Beaucaire.
“Do you expect me to fight a cut-throat barber, and with bare hands?”
“I think one does not expec' monsieur to fight anybody. Would I fight
you, you think? That was why I had my servants, that evening we play.
I would gladly fight almos' any one in the won'; but I did not wish to
soil my hand with a--”
“Stuff his lying mouth with his orders!” shouted the Duke.
But Molyneux still held the gentlemen back. “One moment,” he cried.
“M. de Winterset,” said Beaucaire, “of what are you afraid? You
calculate well. Beaucaire might have been belief--an impostor that you
yourself expose'? Never! But I was not goin' reveal that secret. You
have not absolve me of my promise.”
“Tell what you like,” answered the Duke. “Tell all the wild lies
you have time for. You have five minutes to make up your mind to go
quietly.”
“Now you absolve me, then? Ha, ha! Oh, yes! Mademoiselle,” he bowed to
Lady Mary, “I have the honor to reques' you leave the room. You shall
miss no details if these frien's of yours kill me, on the honor of a
French gentleman.”
“A French what?” laughed Bantison.
“Do you dare keep up the pretense?” cried Lord Town brake. “Know, you
villain barber, that your master, the Marquis de Mirepoix, is in the
next room.”
Molyneux heaved a great sigh of relief. “Shall I--” He turned to M.
Beaucaire.
The young man laughed, and said: “Tell him come here at once.
“Impudent to the last!” cried Bantison, as Molyneux hurried from the
room.
“Now you goin' to see M. Beaucaire's master,” said Beaucaire to Lady
Mary. “'Tis true what I say, the other night. I cross from Prance in his
suite; my passport say as his barber. Then to pass the ennui of exile, I
come to Bath and play for what one will. It kill the time. But when the
people hear I have been a servant they come only secretly; and there
is one of them--he has absolve' me of a promise not to speak--of him I
learn something he cannot wish to be tol'. I make some trouble to learn
this thing. Why I should do this? Well--that is my own rizzon. So I make
this man help me in a masque, the unmasking it was, for, as there is no
one to know me, I throw off my black wig and become myself--and so I
am 'Chateaurien,' Castle Nowhere. Then this man I use', this Winterset,
he--”
“I have great need to deny these accusations?” said the Duke.
“Nay,” said Lady Mary wearily.
“Shall I tell you why I mus' be 'Victor' and 'Beaucaire' and
'Chateaurien,' and not myself?”
“To escape from the bailiffs for debts for razors and soap,” gibed Lord
Townbrake.
“No, monsieur. In France I have got a cousin who is a man with a very
bad temper at some time', and he will never enjoy his relatives to do
what he does not wish--”
He was interrupted by a loud commotion from without. The door was flung
open, and the young Count of Beaujolais bounded in and threw his arms
about the neck of M. Beaucaire.
“Philippe!” he cried. “My brother, I have come to take you back with
me.”
M. de Mirepoix followed him, bowing as a courtier, in deference; but M.
Beaucaire took both his hands heartily. Molyneux came after, with Mr.
Nash, and closed the door.
“My warmest felicitations,” said the Marquis. “There is no longer need
for your incognito.”
“Thou best of masters!” said Beaucaire, touching him fondly on the
shoulder. “I know. Your courier came safely. And so I am forgiven! But
I forget.” He turned to the lady. She had begun to tremble exceedingly.
“Faires' of all the English fair,” he said, as the gentlemen bowed low
to her deep courtesy, “I beg the honor to presen' to Lady Mary Carlisle,
M. le Comte de Beaujolais. M. de Mirepoix has already the honor. Lady
Mary has been very kind to me, my frien's; you mus' help me make my
acknowledgment. Mademoiselle and gentlemen, will you give me that favour
to detain you one instan'?”
“Henri,” he turned to the young Beaujolais, “I wish you had shared my
masque--I have been so gay!” The surface of his tone was merry, but
there was an undercurrent, weary--sad, to speak of what was the mood,
not the manner. He made the effect of addressing every one present, but
he looked steadily at Lady Mary. Her eyes were fixed upon him, with a
silent and frightened fascination, and she trembled more and more. “I am
a great actor, Henri. These gentlemen are yet scarce convince' I am not
a lackey! And I mus' tell you that I was jus' now to be expelled for
having been a barber!”
“Oh, no!” the ambassador cried out. “He would not be content with me;
he would wander over a strange country.”
“Ha, ha, my Mirepoix! And what is better, one evening I am oblige'
to fight some frien's of M. de Winterset there, and some ladies and
cavaliers look on, and they still think me a servant. Oh, I am a great
actor! 'Tis true there is not a peasant in France who would not have
then known one 'born'; but they are wonderful, this English people,
holding by an idea once it is in their heads--a mos' worthy quality. But
my good Molyneux here, he had speak to me with courtesy, jus' because
I am a man an' jus' because he is always kind. (I have learn' that
his great-grandfather was a Frenchman.) So I sen' to him and tell him
ev'rything, and he gain admittance for me here to-night to await my
frien's.
“I was speaking to messieurs about my cousin, who will meddle in the
affair' of his relatives. Well, that gentleman, he make a marriage for
me with a good and accomplish' lady, very noble and very beautiful--and
amiable.” (The young count at his elbow started slightly at this, but
immediately appeared to wrap himself in a mantle of solemn thought.)
“Unfortunately, when my cousin arrange' so, I was a dolt, a little
blockhead; I swear to marry for myself and when I please, or never if
I like. That lady is all things charming and gentle, and, in truth, she
is--very much attach' to me--why should I not say it? I am so proud of
it. She is very faithful and forgiving and sweet; she would be the
same, I think, if I--were even--a lackey. But I? I was a dolt, a little
unsensible brute; I did not value such thing' then; I was too yo'ng,
las' June. So I say to my cousin, 'No, I make my own choosing!' 'Little
fool,' he answer, 'she is the one for you. Am I not wiser than you?' And
he was very angry, and, as he has influence in France, word come' that
he will get me put in Vincennes, so I mus' run away quick till his anger
is gone. My good frien' Mirepoix is jus' leaving for London; he take'
many risk' for my sake; his hairdresser die before he start', so I
travel as that poor barber. But my cousin is a man to be afraid of when
he is angry, even in England, and I mus' not get my Mirepoix in trouble.
I mus' not be discover' till my cousin is ready to laugh about it all
and make it a joke. And there may be spies; so I change my name again,
and come to Bath to amuse my retreat with a little gaming--I am always
fond of that. But three day' ago M. le Marquis send me a courier to say
that my brother, who know where I had run away, is come from France to
say that my cousin is appease'; he need me for his little theatre, the
play cannot go on. I do not need to espouse mademoiselle. All shall be
forgiven if I return, and my brother and M. de Mirepoix will meet me in
Bath to felicitate.
“There is one more thing to say, that is all. I have said I learn' a
secret, and use it to make a man introduce me if I will not tell. He has
absolve' me of that promise. My frien's, I had not the wish to ruin that
man. I was not receive'; Meestaire Nash had reboff me; I had no other
way excep' to use this fellow. So I say, 'Take me to Lady Malbourne's
ball as “Chateaurien.”' I throw off my wig, and shave, and behol', I am
M. le Duc de Castle Nowhere. Ha, ha! You see?”
The young man's manner suddenly changed. He became haughty, menacing.
He stretched out his arm, and pointed at Winterset. “Now I am no
'Beaucaire,' messieurs. I am a French gentleman. The man who introduce'
me at the price of his honor, and then betray' me to redeem it, is that
coward, that card-cheat there!”
Winterset made a horrible effort to laugh. The gentlemen who surrounded
him fell away as from pestilence. “A French gentleman!” he sneered
savagely, and yet fearfully. “I don't know who you are. Hide behind as
many toys and ribbons as you like; I'll know the name of the man who
dares bring such a charge!”
“Sir!” cried de Mirepoix sharply, advancing a step towards him; but he
checked himself at once. He made a low bow of state, first to the young
Frenchman, then to Lady Mary and the company. “Permit me, Lady Mary
and gentlemen,” he said, “to assume the honor of presenting you to His
Highness, Prince Louis-Philippe de Valois, Duke of Orleans, Duke of
Chartres, Duke of Nemours, Duke of Montpeti'sier, First Prince of
the Blood Royal, First Peer of France, Lieutenant-General of French
Infantry, Governor of Dauphine, Knight of the Golden Fleece, Grand
Master of the Order of Notre Dame, of Mount Carmel, and of St. Lazarus
in Jerusalem; and cousin to His most Christian Majesty, Louis the
Fifteenth, King of France.”
“Those are a few of my brother's names,” whispered Henri of Beaujolais
to Molyneux. “Old Mirepoix has the long breath, but it take' a strong
man two day' to say all of them. I can suppose this Winterset know' now
who bring the charge!”
“Castle Nowhere!” gasped Beau Nash, falling back upon the burly prop of
Mr. Bantison's shoulder.
“The Duke of Orleans will receive a message from me within the hour!”
said Winterset, as he made his way to the door. His face was black with
rage and shame.
“I tol' you that I would not soil my hand with you,” answered the young
man. “If you send a message no gentleman will bring it. Whoever shall
bear it will receive a little beating from Francois.”
He stepped to Lady Mary's side. Her head was bent low, her face averted.
She seemed to breathe with difficulty, and leaned heavily upon a chair.
“Monseigneur,” she faltered in a half whisper, “can you--forgive me? It
is a bitter--mistake-I have made. Forgive.”
“Forgive?” he answered, and his voice was as broken as hers; but he went
on, more firmly: “It is--nothing--less than nothing. There is--only jus'
one--in the--whole worl' who would not have treat' me the way that you
treat' me. It is to her that I am goin' to make reparation. You know
something, Henri? I am not goin' back only because the king forgive'
me. I am goin' to please him; I am goin' to espouse mademoiselle, our
cousin. My frien's, I ask your felicitations.”
“And the king does not compel him!” exclaimed young Henri.
“Henri, you want to fight me?” cried his brother sharply. “Don' you
think the King of France is a wiser man than me?”
He offered his hand to Lady Mary. “Mademoiselle is fatigue'. Will she
honor me?”
He walked with her to the door. Her hand fluttering faintly in his.
From somewhere about the garments of one of them a little cloud of faded
rose-leaves fell, and lay strewn on the floor behind them. He opened the
door, and the lights shone on a multitude of eager faces turned toward
it. There was a great hum of voices, and, over all, the fiddles wove a
wandering air, a sweet French song of the voyageur.
He bowed very low, as, with fixed and glistening eyes, Lady Mary
Carlisle, the Beauty of Bath, passed slowly by him and went out of the
room.