The Duke handed the note to her, and went to the fire, and stared down into it.

“Monseigneur,—

“I have run away from you because I have discovered thatt I am not what you Think me. I told you a Lie when I said thatt Madame de Verchoureux had not Spoken to me the other Night. She told me thatt Every One knows I am a Base-born daughter of Saint-Vire. It is Quite True, Monseigneur, for on Thursday I slipped out with my Maid, and went to his House, and asked him if it were indeed so. Monseigneur, it is not convenable thatt I stay with you. I cannot bear thatt I should bring Scandal to you, and I know that I must do this if I stay with you, for M. de Saint-Vire will say thatt I am his Bastard, and your Mistress. I do not want to go, Monseigneur, but it is best thatt I should. I tried to Thank you To-night, but you would not let me. Please, you must not be anxious for me. I wanted at first to Kill myself, but then I saw thatt thatt is Cowardly. I am Quite Safe, and I am going very far away to Some One who will be good to me, I know. I have left all my Things, except the Money you gave me, which I must take to pay my Journey, and the Sapphire Chain which you gave me when I was your Page. I thought you would not Mind if I took thatt, because it is the only thing I have kept which you gave me. Marie goes with me, and Please you must not be Angry with the Lackeys for letting me go, for they thought I was Rachel. I leave for Rupert, and M. Davenant, and M. Marling, and Milor’ Merivale my so Great Love for them. And for you, Monseigneur. I cannot write it. I am Glad thatt we were Alone to-night.

“A Dieu.

“Infant.”

Lady Fanny’s face worked for a minute, then she whisked out her handkerchief and cried into it, regardless of paint and powder. His Grace picked up the note, and read it through again.

“Poor little infant!” he said softly.

“Oh, Justin, we must find her!” sniffed her ladyship.

“We shall find her,” he answered. “I think I know where she has gone.”

“Where? Can you go after her? Now? She is such a babe, and she has only a foolish abigail with her.”

“I believe that she has gone to—Anjou.” His Grace folded the note and put it into his pocket. “She has left me because she fears to endanger my—reputation. It is somewhat ironic, is it not?”

Lady Fanny blew her nose vigorously, and gave yet another watery sniff.

“She loves you, Justin.”

He was silent.

“Oh Justin, do you not care? I felt so certain that you loved her!”

“I love her—too well to marry her, my dear,” said his Grace.

“Why?” Lady Fanny put away her handkerchief.

“There are so many reasons,” sighed his Grace. “I am too old for her.”

“Oh, fiddle!” said my lady. “I thought that maybe ’twas her birth you cavilled at.”

“Her birth, Fanny, is as good as yours. She is Saint-Vire’s legitimate daughter.”

Lady Fanny gaped at him.

“In her place he has put the clod you know as de Valmé. His name is Bonnard. I have waited too long, but I strike now.” He picked up a hand-bell, and rang it. To the lackey who came he said: “You will go at once to the Hôtel de Châtelet, and request M. Marling and M. Davenant to return at once. Ask Milor’ Merivale to accompany them. You may go.” He turned again to his sister. “What did the child write to you?”

“Only farewell!” Lady Fanny bit her lip. “And I wondered why she kissed me so sweetly to-night! Oh dear, oh dear!”

“She kissed my hand,” Avon said. “We have all been fools this day. Do not distress yourself, Fanny. I shall bring her back if I have to search the world for her. And when she comes she will come as Mademoiselle de Saint-Vire.”

“But I don’t understand how—oh, here is Rupert! Yes, Rupert, I have been crying, and I do not care. Tell him, Justin.”

Avon showed his young brother Léonie’s letter. Rupert read it, exclaiming at intervals. When he came to the end he snatched his wig from his head, threw it upon the floor, and stamped on it, saying various things beneath his breath that made Lady Fanny clap her hands over her ears.

“If you don’t have his blood for this, Justin, I shall!” he said at last, picked up his wig, and put it on his head again. “May he rot in hell for a black scoundrel! Is she his bastard?”

“She is not,” said Avon. “She is his legitimate daughter. I have sent for Hugh and Marling. It is time that you all knew my infant’s story.”

“Left her love for me, bless her!” choked Rupert. “Where is she? Are we to set off at once? Only give the word, Justin, and I’m ready!”

“I do not doubt it, child, but we do not start to-day. I believe I know whither she has gone; she will be safe enough. Before I bring her back she shall be righted in the eyes of the world.”

Rupert glanced down at the letter in his hand.

“I cannot bear thatt I should bring Scandal to you,” he read. “Burn it, your life’s one long scandal! And she—Devil take it, I could cry like a woman, so I could!” He gave the letter back to the Duke. “She’s made a cursed idol of you, Justin, and you’re not fit to kiss her little feet!” he said.

Avon looked at him.

“That I know,” he said. “My part ends when I bring her back to Paris. It is better so.”

“So you do love her.” Rupert nodded to his sister.

“I have loved her for a long time. And you, my son?”

“No, no, I’m no suitor of hers, I thank you! She’s a darling, but I’d have none of her to wife. It’s you she wants, and it’s you she’ll have, mark my words!”

“I am ‘Monseigneur’,” Avon replied with a crooked smile. “There is glamour attached to me, but I am too old for her.”

Then the others came in in a state of liveliest curiosity.

“What’s to do, Justin?” asked Hugh. “Has there been a death in the house?”

“No, my dear. Not a death.”

Lady Fanny sprang up.

“Justin—she—she would not have killed herself, and—and said that in her letter so that you should not guess her intention? I never thought of that! Oh, Edward, Edward, I am so unhappy!”

“She?” Marling put an arm about Fanny. “Do you mean—Léonie?”

“She has not killed herself, Fanny. You forget that she has her maid with her,” Avon said reassuringly.

Davenant shook him by the arm.

“Speak out, man, for God’s sake! What has happened to the child?”

“She has left me,” Avon said, and put Léonie’s note in his hand.

With one accord Merivale and Marling went to look over Hugh’s shoulder.

“God’s truth!” exploded Merivale, and clapped a hand to his sword hilt as he read. “Oh, what a villain! Now, Justin, you shall have at him, and I’m with you to the death!”

“But——” Marling looked up with puckered brows.

“Poor, poor child, is it true?”

Hugh came to the end, and said huskily:

“Little Léon! ’Fore Gad, it’s pathetic!”

Rupert, at this juncture, relieved his feelings by throwing his snuff-box at the opposite wall.

“Oh, we’ll send him to hell between us, never fear!” he stormed. “Cur! Dastardly cur! Here, give me some burgundy, Fan! I’m in such a heat—Swords are too good for the rogue, damme they are!”

“Much too good,” agreed his Grace.

“Swords!” Merivale exclaimed. “It’s too quick. You or I, Justin, could kill him in less than three minutes.”

“Too quick, and too clumsy. There is more poetry in the vengeance I take.”

Hugh looked up.

“But explain?” he begged. “Where is the child? What are you talking about? You have found a way to pay your debt in full, I suppose, but how have you found it?”

“Curiously enough,” said his Grace, “I had forgotten that old quarrel. You remind me most opportunely. The scales weigh heavily against M. de Saint-Vire. Give me your attention for one minute, and you shall know Léonie’s story.” Briefly, and with none of his accustomed suavity, he told them the truth. They listened in thunder-struck silence, and for some time after he had finished could find no words to speak. It was Marling who broke the silence.

“If that is true the man is the biggest scoundrel unhung!” he said. “Are you sure, Avon?”

“Perfectly, my friend.”

Rupert shook his fist, and muttered darkly.

“Good God, do we live in the Dark Ages?” cried Hugh. “It’s almost incredible!”

“But the proof!” Fanny cut in. “What can you do, Justin?”

“I can stake everything on the last round, Fanny. I am going to do that. And I think—yes, I really think that I shall win.” He smiled unpleasantly. “For the present my infant is safe, and I believe I may put my hand on her when I wish.”

“What do you intend to do?” shouted Rupert.

“Oh yes, Justin, please tell us!” besought my lady. “It is so dreadful to know nothing. To have to sit idle!”

“I know, Fanny, but once more I must ask you all to be patient. I play my games best alone. One thing I may promise you: You shall be in at the death.”

“But when will it be?” Rupert poured out another glass of burgundy “You’re too devilish tricky for me, Justin. I want a hand in the affair.”

“No.” Hugh shook his head. “Let Avon play his game to a close. There are too many of us to join with him, and there’s a proverb that says ‘Too many cooks spoil the broth’. I’m not usually bloodthirsty, but I do not want Saint-Vire’s broth to be spoiled.”

“I want to see him crushed,” said Merivale. “And that soon!”

“You shall, my dear Anthony. But for the present we will behave as ever. If any ask for Léonie she is indisposed. Fanny, did you say that Madame du Deffand gives a soirée to-morrow?”

“Yes, but I’ve not the heart to go,” sighed my lady. “It will be so brilliant too, and I did want Léonie to be there!”