Avon surveyed him for a moment.

“Yes. You may rise, Léon. I am going to ask you some questions. I desire you will answer them truthfully. You understand?”

Léon put his hands behind him.

“Yes, Monseigneur.”

“You may first tell me how you come to know my language.”

Léon shot him a surprised glance.

“Monseigneur?”

“Pray do not be guileless. I dislike fools.”

“Yes, Monseigneur. I was only surprised that you knew. It was at the inn, you see.”

“I do not think I am obtuse,” said Avon coldly, “but I see naught.”

“Pardon, Monseigneur. Jean keeps an inn, and very often English travellers come. Not—not noble English, of course.”

“I see. Now you may relate your history. Begin with your name.”

“I am Léon Bonnard, Monseigneur. My mother was the Mčre Bonnard, and my father——”

“—was the Pčre Bonnard. It is not inconceivable. Where were you born, and when did your worthy parents die?”

“I—I do not know where I was born, Monseigneur. It was not in Anjou, I think.”

“That is of course interesting,” remarked the Duke. “Spare me a list of the places where you were not born, I beg of you.”

Léon coloured.

“You do not understand, Monseigneur. My parents went to live in Anjou when I was a baby. We had a farm in Bassincourt, auprčs de Saumur. And—and we lived there until my parents died.”

“Did they die simultaneously?” inquired Justin.

Léon’s straight little nose wrinkled in perplexity.

“Monseigneur?”

“At one and the same time.”

“It was the plague,” explained Léon. “I was sent to Monsieur le Curé. I was twelve then, and Jean was twenty.”

“How came you to be so much younger than this Jean?” asked Justin, and opened his eyes rather wide, so that Léon looked full into them.

A mischievous chuckle escaped Léon; he returned the piercing stare frankly.

“Monseigneur, my parents are dead, so I cannot ask them.”

“My friend——” Justin spoke softly. “Do you know what I do to impertinent pages?”

Léon shook his head apprehensively.

“I have them whipped. I advise you to have a care.”

Léon paled, and the laugh died out of his eyes.

“Pardon, Monseigneur. I—I did not mean to be impertinent,” he said contritely. “My mother had once a daughter who died. Then—then I came.”

“Thank you. Where did you learn to speak as a gentleman?”

“With M. le Curé, Monseigneur. He taught me to read and to write and to know Latin a little, and—and many other things.”

Justin raised his eyebrows.

“And your father was a farmer? Why did you receive this extensive education?”

“I do not know, Monseigneur. I was the baby, you see, and the favourite. My mother would not have me work on the farm. That is why Jean hates me, I think.”

“Possibly. Give me your hand.”

Léon extended one slender hand for inspection. Justin took it in his, and surveyed it through his eyeglass. It was small, and finely made, with tapering fingers roughened by toil.

“Yes,” said the Duke. “Quite a pretty member.”

Léon smiled engagingly.

“Quant ŕ ça, you have very beautiful hands, Monseigneur, I think.”

The Duke’s lips quivered.

“You overwhelm me, my child. As you were saying, your parents died. What then?”

“Oh, then Jean sold the farm! He said he was made for greater things. But I do not know.” Léon tilted his head to one side, considering the point. The irrepressible dimple appeared, and was swiftly banished. Léon eyed his master solemnly, and a little nervously withal.

“We will leave Jean’s capabilities out of the discussion,” said Justin smoothly. “Continue your story.”

“Yes, Monseigneur. Jean sold the farm, and took me away from M. le Curé.” Léon’s face clouded over. “Monsieur wanted to keep me, but Jean would not have it so. He thought I should be useful. So of course monsieur could do naught. Jean brought me to Paris. That was when he made me——” Léon stopped.

“Go on!” said Justin sharply. “That was when he made you——?”

“Work for him,” said Léon lamely. He encountered a searching glance, and his big eyes fell before it.

“Very well,” said Justin at last. “We will leave it at that. Et puis?”

“Then Jean bought the inn in the Rue Sainte-Marie, and—and after a time he met Charlotte, and—and married her. Then it was worse, because Charlotte hated me.” The blue eyes flashed. “I tried to kill her once,” said Léon naďvely. “With the big carving-knife.”

“Her hatred is not incomprehensible,” said Justin dryly.

“N-no,” replied Léon doubtfully. “I was only fifteen then. I remember I did not have anything to eat all day—besides the beating. And—and that is all, Monseigneur, till you came, and took me away.”

Justin picked up a quill and passed it through his fingers.

“May I ask why you tried to kill this Charlotte—er—with the carving-knife?”

Léon flushed, and looked away.

“There—there was a reason, Monseigneur.”

“I do not doubt it.”

“I—oh, I think she was very unkind and cruel and she—she made me angry. That was all.”

“I am both cruel and unkind, but I do not advise you to try and kill me. Or any of my servants. You see, I know what the colour of your hair denotes.”

The long dark lashes lifted again, and the dimple showed.

“Colčre de diable,” Léon said.

“Precisely. You will do well to hide it with me, my child.”

“Yes, Monseigneur. I do not seek to kill those whom I love.”

Justin’s lip curled rather sardonically.

“I am relieved. Now listen to me. You will henceforth be my page; you will be clothed and fed, and well provided for, but in return I will have obedience from you. You understand?”

“But yes, Monseigneur.”

“You will learn that my word is law with my servants. And this is my first command: if anyone should question you as to who you are, or from where you come, you will answer only that you are Avon’s page. You will forget your past until I give you leave to remember it. You see?”

“Yes, Monseigneur.”

“And you will obey Walker as you would myself.”

The firm chin was tilted at that; Léon looked speculatively at the Duke.

“If you do not”—the soft voice grew softer still—“you will find that I too know how to punish.”

“If it is your will that I obey this Walker,” said Léon with dignity, “I will do it, y-your-r-r Gr-r-race!”

Justin looked him over.

“Certainly you will do so. And I prefer that you call me Monseigneur.”

The blue eyes twinkled wickedly.

“This Walker, he has told me that when I speak to you, Monseigneur, I must say ‘your-r-r’ ah, bah! I cannot, enfin!”

For one moment Justin stared haughtily at his page. Instantly the twinkle disappeared. Léon stared back gravely.

“Be very careful,” Justin warned him.

“Yes, Monseigneur,” Léon said meekly.

“You may go now. This evening you will accompany me out.” The Duke dipped his quill in the inkhorn, and started to write.

“Where, Monseigneur?” inquired the page with great interest.

“Is that your affair? I dismissed you. Go.”

“Yes, Monseigneur. Pardon!” Léon departed, carefully closing the door behind him. Outside he met Davenant, coming slowly down the stairs. Hugh smiled.

“Well, Léon? Where have you been all the morning?”

“Dressing myself, in these new clothes, m’sieu’. I think I look nice, n’est-ce pas?”

“Very nice. Where are you going now?”

“I do not know, m’sieu’. Perhaps there is something I may do for Monseigneur?”

“If he gave you no orders there is nothing. Can you read?”

“But yes! I was taught. Ah, I have forgotten, m’sieu’!”

“Have you?” Hugh was amused. “If you come with me, child, I’ll find you a book.”

Twenty minutes later Hugh entered the library to find the Duke still writing, as Léon had left him.

“Justin, who and what is Léon? He is a delightful child; certainly no peasant!”

“He is a very impertinent child,” said Justin, with the ghost of a smile. “He is the first page I have had who ever dared to laugh at me.”

“Did he laugh at you? A very wholesome experience for you, Alastair. How old is the child?”

“I have reason to believe that he is nineteen,” said Justin placidly.

“Nineteen! Faith, it’s not possible! He is a babe!”

“Not entirely. Do you come with me to Vassaud’s tonight?”

“I suppose so. I’ve no money to lose, but what matter?”

“You need not play,” said Justin.

“If one does not play, why visit a gaming-house?”

“To talk to the monde. I go to Vassaud’s to see Paris.” He resumed his writing, and presently Hugh strolled away.

At dinner that evening Léon stood behind the Duke’s chair, and waited upon him. Justin seemed hardly to notice him, but Hugh could not take his eyes from that piquant little face. Indeed, he stared so hard that at last Léon stared back, with great dignity, and some reproach. Observing his friend’s fixed regard, Justin turned, and put up his glass to look at Léon.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Monseigneur, only looking at M. Davenant.”

“Then do not.”

“But he looks at me, Monseigneur!”

“That is another matter.”

“I do not see that that is fair,” remarked Léon, sotto voce.

Some time after dinner the two men set out for Vassaud’s. When Hugh realized that Léon was to accompany them he frowned, and took Avon aside.