“Let’s have it!” requested Rupert. “What brought you down to Avon so opportunely? Damme, there’s something uncanny about you, Satanas, so there is!”

Léonie fired up at that.

“You shall not call him by that name!” she said fiercely. “You only dare to do it because you are ill and I cannot fight you!”

“My esteemed ward, what is this lamentable talk of fighting? I trust you are not in the habit of fighting Rupert?”

“Oh no, Monseigneur, I only did it once! He just ran and hid behind a chair. He was afraid!”

“Small wonder!” retorted Rupert. “She’s a wild-cat, Justin. It’s Have-at-you! before you know where you are, ’pon my oath it is!”

“It seems I stayed away too long,” said his Grace sternly.

“Yes, Monseigneur, much, much too long!” said Léonie, kissing his hand. “But I was good—oh, many times!”

His Grace’s lips twitched. At once the dimple peeped out.

“I knew you were not really angry!” Léonie said. “Now tell us what you did.”

The Duke flicked her cheek with one finger.

“I came home, my infant, to find my house invaded by the Merivales, your duenna being prostrate with the vapours.”

“Bah, she is a fool!” said Léonie scornfully. “Why was Milor’ Merivale there?”

“I was about to tell you, my dear, when you interrupted me with your stricture upon my cousin. My Lord and Lady Merivale were there to help find you.”

“Faith, it must have been a merry meeting!” put in the irrepressible Rupert.

“It was not without its amusing side. From them I learned of your disappearance.”

“Did you think we had eloped?” Rupert inquired.

“That explanation did present itself to me,” admitted his Grace.

“Eloped?” Léonie echoed. “With Rupert? Ah, bah, I would as soon elope with the old goat in the field!”

“If it comes to that, I’d as soon elope with a tigress!” retorted Rupert. “Sooner, by Gad!”

“When this interchange of civilities is over,” said his Grace languidly, “I will continue. But do not let me interrupt you.”

“Ay, go on,” said Rupert. “What next?”

“Next, my children, Mr. Manvers bounced in upon us. I fear that Mr. Manvers is not pleased with you, Rupert, or with me, but let that pass. From him I gathered that you, Rupert, had gone off in pursuit of a coach containing a French gentleman. After that it was easy. I journeyed that night to Southampton—you did not think to board the Queen, boy?”

“I remembered her, but I was in no mood to waste time riding to Southampton. Go on.”

“For which I thank you. You would undoubtedly have sold her had you taken her to France. I crossed in her yesterday, and came into Le Havre at sundown. There, my children, I made sundry inquiries, and there also I spent the night. From the innkeeper I learned that Saint-Vire had set off with Léonie by coach for Rouen at two in the afternoon, and further that you, Rupert, had hired a horse half an hour or more later—by the way, have you still that horse, or has it already gone the way of its fellow?”

“No, it’s here right enough,” chuckled Rupert.

“You amaze me. All this, I say, I learned from the innkeeper. It was rather too late then for me to set out in search of you, and, moreover, I half expected you to arrive at Le Havre. When you did not arrive I feared that you, Rupert, had failed to catch my very dear friend Saint-Vire. So this morning, my children, I took coach along the road to Rouen, and came upon a derelict.” His Grace produced his snuff-box, and opened it. “My very dear friend’s coach, with his arms blazoned upon the door. It was scarcely wise of my very dear friend to leave his coach lying for me to find, but it is possible, of course, that he did not expect me.”

“He is a fool, Monseigneur. He did not know even that I was pretending to be asleep.”

“According to you, my infant, the world is peopled by fools. I believe you have reason. To resume. It seemed probable that Léonie had escaped; further it seemed probable that she had escaped towards Le Havre. But since neither of you had arrived at that port I guessed that you were concealed somewhere on the road to Le Havre. Therefore, mes enfants, I drove back along the road until I came to a lane that gave on to it. Down this lane I proceeded.”

“We went across the fields,” Léonie cut in.

“A shorter way, no doubt, but one could hardly expect a coach to take it. At the hamlet I came upon they knew nothing of you. I drove on, and came at length, by devious ways, to this place. The luck, you see, favoured me. Let us hope that my very dear friend will be equally fortunate. Infant, go and change your clothes.”

“Yes, Monseigneur. What are we going to do now?”

“That remains to be seen,” said Avon. “Away with you!”

Léonie departed. His Grace looked at Rupert.

“My young madman, has a surgeon seen your wound?”

“Ay, he came last night, confound him!”

“What said he?”

“Oh, naught! He’ll come again to-day.”

“From your expression I am led to infer that he prophesied some days in bed for you, child.”

“Ten, plague take him! But I shall be well enough by to-morrow.”

“You will remain there, nevertheless, until the worthy surgeon permits you to arise. I must send for Harriet.”

“Lord, must you? Why?”

“To chaperon my ward,” said his Grace calmly. “I hope my letter will not bring about a fresh attack of the vapours. Gaston had best start for Le Havre at once.” He rose. “I want pen, ink, and paper. I suppose I shall find them downstairs. You would be better for an hour’s sleep, my dear.”

“But what of Saint-Vire?” Rupert asked.

“The so dear Comte is in all probability scouring the country-side. I hope to see him soon.”

“Ay, but what will you do?”

“I? I shall do precisely nothing.”

“I’d give a pony to see his face when he finds you here!”

“Yes, I do not think he will be pleased,” said his Grace, and went out.

CHAPTER XXI

The Discomfiture of the Comte de Saint-Vire

Mine host and hostess of the Black Bull at Le Dennier had never before entertained such quality at their humble inn. Madame sent a serving man running hot-foot to her neighbour, Madame Tournoise, and presently the lady came hurrying in with her daughter to aid Madame in her preparations. When she heard that no less a personage than an English Duke, with his entourage, had arrived at the inn, she was round-eyed in wonderment, and when his Grace came slowly down the stairs clad in a coat of palest lavender, with lacing of silver, and a silver waistcoat, amethysts in his lace, and on his fingers, she stood staring open-mouthed.

His Grace went to the little parlour, and sent for writing materials. Mine host came bustling with the inkhorn, and desired to know whether Monseigneur would take any refreshment. His Grace bespoke a bottle of canary wine, and three glasses, and sat him down to write to his cousin. A faint smile hovered about his lips.

“My very dear Cousin,—

“I Trust that by the Time you Receive this Missive you will have recovered from the Sad Indisposition which had overtaken you when I had the Pleasure of seeing you, three Days since. I am Desolat’d to be Oblig’d to put you to Added Inconvenience, but I believe I must Request you to Join me here as soon as may be. Gaston, who brings this letter, will Escort you. Pray pack your Trunks for a long stay, for I have some notion of Proceeding in due Course to Paris. My Ward, you will be Reliev’d to hear, is with me in this charming Village, in company with my Lord Rupert.

“I have the Honour, my dear Cousin, to be

“Yr most devot’d, humble, and obedient servant

“Avon.”

His Grace signed his name with a flourish, still smiling. The door opened, and Léonie came in, all in foaming white muslin, with a blue sash about her waist, and a blue riband in her hair.

“Monseigneur, is it not kind of Lady Fanny to send me this pretty dress? I look nice, do you not think?”

The Duke put up his glass.

“My child, you look charming. Lady Fanny’s taste is unimpeachable.” He rose, and picked up a flat velvet case from the table. “I beg you will accept this trifling mark of my affection for you, infant.”

Léonie skipped up to him.

“Another present, Monseigneur? I think you are very kind to me! What is it, I wonder?”

His Grace opened the case. Léonie’s lips formed a soundless Oh!

“Mon-seigneur!”

The Duke lifted the pearls from their bed of velvet, and clasped them about her neck.

“Oh, Monseigneur, thank you!” she said in a gasp, and held the long string between her fingers. “They are beautiful! I love them, oh, much! Would you like me to curtsy to you, or may I just kiss your hand?”

His Grace smiled.

“You need do neither, infant.”

“I will do both,” said Léonie, and sank down with skirts outspread and one little foot peeping from beneath the muslin flounces. Then she kissed the Duke’s hand, and rose. Lastly she inspected his Grace’s clothes.

“That is a nice dress, I think,” she said.

Avon bowed.

“I like it,” Léonie said. “Monseigneur, I feel very brave now. What will you do to that pig-person when he comes?”

“I shall have the honour of presenting you, my dear,” Avon answered. “Let him have your haughtiest curtsy. It is a little game we play.”

“Yes? But I do not want to curtsy to him. I want to make him sorry.”

“Believe me, he will be very sorry, but the time is not yet. Bear in mind, ma fille, that you have not till now set eyes on my very dear friend.”