The Curé laid a hand on his arm.

“What are you going to do, my son?”

“If she is indeed what I think her I am going to restore Léonie to her family. How grateful they will be! If not——” He paused. “Well, I have not considered that possibility. Rest assured that I shall provide for her. For the present she must learn to be a girl again. After that we shall see.”

The Curé looked full into his eyes for a moment.

“My son, I trust you.”

“You overwhelm me, father. As it chances, I am to be trusted this time. One day I will bring Léonie to see you.”

The Curé walked with him to the door, and together they passed out into the little hall.

“Does she know, m’sieur?”

Justin smiled.

“My dear father, I am far too old to place my secrets in a woman’s keeping. She knows nothing.”

“The poor little one! Of what like is she now?”

Avon’s eyes gleamed.

“She is something of an imp, mon pčre, with all the Saint-Vire spirit, and much impudence of which she is unaware. She has seen much, as I judge, and at times I espy a cynicism in her that is most entertaining. For the rest she is wise and innocent by turn. A hundred years old one minute, a babe the next. As are all women!”

They had come to the garden gate now, and Avon beckoned to the boy who held his horse.

Some of the anxious lines were smoothed from De Beaupré’s face.

“My son, you have described the little one with feeling. You speak as one who understands her.”

“I have reason to know her sex, my father.”

“That may be. But have you ever felt towards a woman as you feel towards this—imp?”

“She is more a boy to me than a girl. I admit I am fond of her. You see, it is so refreshing to have a child of her age—and sex—in one’s power, who thinks no ill of one, nor tries to escape. I am a hero to her.”

“I hope that you will ever be that. Be very good to her, I pray you.”

Avon bowed to him, kissing his hand with a gesture of half-ironical respect.

“When I feel that I can no longer maintain the heroic pose I will send Léonie—by the way, I am adopting her—back to you.”

“C’est entendu,” nodded De Beaupré. “For the present I am with you. You will take care of the little one, and perhaps restore her to her own. Adieu, mon fils.”

Avon mounted, tossed the small boy a louis, and bowed again, low over his horse’s withers.

“I thank you, father. It seems that we understand one another very well—Satan and priest.”

“Perhaps you have been misnamed, my son,” said De Beaupré, smiling a little.

“Oh, I think not! My friends know me rather well, you see. Adieu, mon pčre!” He put on his hat, and rode forward across the square, towards Saumur.

The small boy, clutching his louis, raced to his mother’s side.

“Maman, maman! It was the Devil! He said so himself!”

CHAPTER VIII

Hugh Davenant is Amazed

A week after Avon’s departure for Saumur, Hugh Davenant sat in the library, endeavouring to amuse the very disconsolate Léon with a game of chess.

“I would like to play cards, if you please, m’sieur,” said Léon politely, on being asked his pleasure.

“Cards?” repeated Hugh.

“Or dice, m’sieur. Only I have no money.”

“We will play chess,” said Hugh firmly, and set out the ivory men.

“Very well, m’sieur.” Léon privately thought Hugh a little mad, but if he wished to play chess with his friend’s page he must of course be humoured.

“Do you think Monseigneur will return soon, m’sieur?” he asked presently. “I remove your bishop.” He did so, to Hugh’s surprise. “It was a little trap,” he explained. “Now it is check.”

“So I see. I grow careless. Yes, I expect Monseigneur will return quite soon. Farewell to your rook, my child.”

“I thought you would do that. Now I move a pawn forward, so!”

“Much ado about nothing, petit. Where did you learn to play this game? Check.”

Léon interposed one of his knights. He was not taking a very keen interest in the game.

“I forget, m’sieur.”

Hugh looked across at him shrewdly.

“You’ve a surprisingly short memory, have you not, my friend?”

Léon peeped at him through his lashes.

“Yes, m’sieur. It—it is very sad. And away goes your queen. You do not attend.”

“Do I not? Your knight is forfeit, Léon. You play a monstrous reckless game.”

“Yes, that is because I like to gamble. Is it true, m’sieur, that you leave us next week?”

Hugh hid a smile at the proprietary “us”.

“Quite true. I am bound for Lyons.”

Léon’s hand hovered uncertainly over the board.

“I have never been there,” he said.

“No? There is time yet.”

“Oh, but I do not wish to go!” Léon swooped down upon a hapless pawn, and took it. “I have heard that Lyons is a place of many smells, and not very nice people.”

“So you won’t go there? Well, perhaps you’re wise. What’s toward?” Hugh raised his head, listening.

There was some slight commotion without; the next moment a footman flung open the library door, and the Duke came slowly in.

Table, chessboard, and men went flying. Léon had sprung impetuously out of his chair, and had almost flung himself at Avon’s feet, all etiquette and decorum forgotten.

“Monseigneur, Monseigneur!”

Over his head Avon met Davenant’s eyes.

“He is mad, of course. I beg you will calm yourself, my Léon.”

Léon gave his hand a last kiss, and rose to his feet.

“Oh, Monseigneur, I have been miserable!”

“Now, I should never have suspected Mr. Davenant of cruelty to infants,” remarked his Grace. “How are you, Hugh?” He strolled forward, and just touched Hugh’s outstretched hands with his finger-tips. “Léon, signify your delight at seeing me by picking up the chessmen.” He went to the fire, and stood with his back to it, Hugh beside him.

“Have you had a pleasant time?” Hugh asked.

“A most instructive week. The roads here are remarkable. Allow me to point out to your notice, Léon, that an insignificant pawn lies under that chair. It is never wise to disregard the pawns.”

Hugh looked at him.

“What may that mean?” he inquired.

“It is merely advice, my dear. I should have made an excellent father. My philosophy is almost equal to Chesterfield’s.”

Hugh chuckled.

“Chesterfield’s conversation is marvellous.”

“A little tedious. Yes, Léon, what now?”

“Shall I bring wine, Monseigneur?”

“Mr. Davenant has certainly trained you well. No, Léon, you shall not bring wine. I trust he has been no trouble, Hugh?”

Léon cast Davenant an anxious glance. There had been one or two slight battles of will between them. Hugh smiled at him.

“His behaviour has been admirable,” he said.

His Grace had seen the anxious look, and the reassuring smile.

“I am relieved. May I now have the truth?”

Léon looked up at him gravely, but volunteered no word. Hugh laid his hand on Avon’s shoulder.

“We have had a few small disputes, Alastair. That is all.”

“Who won?” inquired his Grace.

“We reached the end by a compromise,” said Hugh solemnly.

“Very unwise. You should have insisted on utter capitulation.” He took Léon’s chin in his hand, and looked into the twinkling blue eyes. “Even as I should have done.” He pinched the chin. “Should I not, infant?”

“Perhaps, Monseigneur.”

The hazel eyes narrowed.

“Perhaps? What is this? Are you so demoralized during this one short week?”

“No, oh no!” Léon’s dimples quivered. “But I am very obstinate, Monseigneur, sometimes. Of course I will always try to make myself do as you wish.”

Avon released him.

“I believe you will,” he said unexpectedly, and waved one white hand to the door.

“I suppose it is useless to ask where you have been?” said Hugh, when Léon had gone.

“Quite.”

“Or where you intend to go next?”

“No, I believe I can answer that. I am going to London.”

“London?” Hugh was surprised. “I thought you intended to remain here some months?”

“Did you, Hugh? I never have intentions. That is why mothers of lovely daughters eye me askance. I am constrained to return to England.” He drew from his pocket a fan of dainty chicken-skin, and spread it open.

“What constrains you?” Hugh frowned upon the Duke’s fan. “Why that new affectation?”

Avon held the fan at arm’s length.

“Exactly what I ask myself, dear Hugh. I found it awaiting me here. It comes from March, who begs——” He searched in his pocket for a folded sheet of paper, and, putting up his glass, read the scrawled lines aloud. “Begs—yes, here we are. ‘I send you this pretty trifle, which I give you my word is now become the rage here, all men who aspire to be beaux using them both in warm weather and cold, so that we rival the ladies now in this matter. I beg you will make use of it, my dear Justin; it is cunningly painted, you will agree, and was procured by me from Geronimo, expressly for you. The golden sticks should please you, as I hope they will do.’” Avon raised his eyes from the letter to observe the fan, which was painted black, with a gold design, and gold sticks and tassels. “I wonder if I do like it?” he said.

“Foppery!” answered Hugh shortly.

“Undoubtedly. Natheless it will give Paris something fresh to talk about. I shall purchase a muff for March. Of miniver, I think. You perceive that I must return to England forthwith.”