“I should hardly think so.” Davenant was amused. “He will have halted somewhere for the night, and if I know aught of Justin he did not set out without some baggage.”

Armand looked round helplessly.

“And not one of you in his confidence!” he said. “It becomes serious! Three times have I come to see——”

“Four,” said my lady wearily.

“Is it so, madame? Four times, then, I have come to see if you have news of him, and of my niece! What can have happened, think you?”

Davenant looked at him.

“We try not to think, Armand. Believe me, our anxiety is as great as yours. We do not know whether Léonie be alive or dead.”

Lady Fanny blew her nose, and cleared her throat.

“And we can’t do anything!” she said. “We must just sit idle, waiting!”

Marling patted her hand.

“You at least have not been idle, my love.”

“No, indeed!” Armand turned to her. “Madame, your kindness to my unfortunate sister overwhelms me! I can find no words! That you should have brought her here, and housed her—Madame, I can only thank——”

“Oh, fiddle!” said Fanny, reviving. “What else could I do? She is in no fit case to be alone, I do assure you. At one time I feared she was like to die of her hysterics, poor soul! She has seen a priest, and since she wrote her confession I do think she is easier. If only Justin would send us word! I cannot sleep o’ nights for thinking of what may have befallen that poor, poor child!”

Davenant stirred the fire to a blaze.

“In truth,” he said, “there can be no ease for any of us, until we know her to be safe.” His smile went awry. “The house is like a tomb since she left it.”

No one answered him. Rupert walked in, to an uncomfortable silence.

“Hey, in the dumps again?” he said breezily. “What, Armand here again? You’d best come and live with us, and ha’ done with it!”

“I don’t know how you can find the heart to laugh, Rupert!” said my lady.

“Why not?” replied the graceless Rupert, coming to the fire. “Justin told us that he knew where Léonie had gone, and I don’t see him failing now, Fan, damme, I don’t! I’ll lay a monkey he’ll bring her back before the week’s out, safe and sound.”

“If he finds her,” Marling said quietly. “It’s more than a week now, Rupert.”

“That’s right, Edward,” retorted his lordship. “Look on the cheerful side! Stap me if ever I met such a gloomy fellow! We don’t know how far Justin may have had to go.”

“But he’s sent us no word, Rupert!” Fanny said anxiously. “This silence frightens me!”

Rupert regarded her in some surprise.

“Lord, and did you ever know Justin send word of what he would be at?” he demanded. “He’ll play his own game, mark my words! He’s not one to take others into his confidence, and he don’t need any help.” He chuckled. “We saw that on Tuesday last, so we did! The man likes to keep us in the dark, and that’s all there is to it.”

A lackey announced my Lord Merivale, and Anthony came in.

“No news?” he asked, bowing over Fanny’s hand.

“No, alas!”

Rupert made room for my lord on the couch.

“Fan’s in the dumps over it,” he said. “I’m telling her she should have more faith in Justin.” He wagged his finger at her. “He’s won every trick in the game, Fan, and he wouldn’t be Justin an he lost the last.”

“Faith, I believe Rupert is right,” Merivale agreed. “I am fast coming to think Avon omnipotent.”

Marling spoke gravely.

“He is a very dangerous man,” he said. “It will be long before I forget the happenings at that soirée.”

Rupert was disgusted.

“Y’know, Edward, you’re a kill-joy,” he said.

Fanny shuddered.

“Oh, Edward, pray do not speak of it! It was horrible, horrible!”

“I do not wish to speak ill of the dead,” Davenant said, “but it was—justice.”

“Ay, and he did it well, by Gad!” said Rupert. “I can see him now, standing there like—damme, like an executioner! But he was devilish, oh, he was devilish! He had me fascinated, I give you my word!”

The door opened.

“Madame est servie,” bowed a lackey.

Fanny rose.

“You’ll dine with us, Comte? And you, Anthony?”

“I trespass upon your hospitality!” Armand protested.

“Devil a bit, man!” said Rupert. “It’s Avon’s hospitality you trespass on, and our patience.”

Fanny laughed.

“Disagreeable boy! Comte, will you give me your arm? I protest I am shy amongst so many of you men!”

“What of Madame?” Marling asked, as she passed him.

“She has a tray in her room,” Fanny replied. “I cannot induce her to join us yet, and indeed I think she is better alone.”

So they went into the dining-room, and seated themselves round the long table, Fanny at one end, and Marling at the other.

“Y’know, I scarce dare venture abroad nowadays,” remarked Rupert, shaking out his napkin. “Wherever I go I’m pounced on for news.”

“Ay, no one seems able to believe that we know no more than the rest of the world,” said Davenant.

“And the people who flock to the house to inquire if Léonie is safe!” said my lady. “This very day I have received Condé, and de Richelieu, and the de la Roques! The child will have a great welcome when—if—if she returns.”

“Plague take your ifs, Fan!” said Rupert. “Will you have claret, Tony?”

“Burgundy, I thank you, scamp.”

“I have ceased to answer the letters,” said Fanny. “People have been very kind, but in truth I cannot hope to reply to all.”

“Kind?” snorted Rupert. “Damned inquisitive, is what I say!”

“Armand, what becomes of de Valmé—I mean Bonnard?”

Armand laid down his fork.

“If you will believe me, the boy is almost glad!” he said. “He understood not in the least what was toward at Madame du Deffand’s that night, but when I explained the matter to him—what do you think he said?”

“We don’t know,” said Rupert. “We’ve enough mystery without you trying to start a fresh one, stap me if we’ve not!”

“Rupert!” My lady frowned upon him. “Rude boy!”

“He said,” Armand went on, “‘At last, at last I may have a farm!’” He looked round impressively. “Did you ever hear the like of it?”

“Never,” said Davenant gravely. “And so?”

“I shall buy him a farm, of course, and settle money upon him. I suggested that he might wish to remain in Paris, and assured him of my protection, but no! He hates town-life, if you please!”

“Mad,” said Rupert with conviction.

Merivale started up.

“Listen!” he said sharply.

Outside in the hall was some stir, as of an arrival. Those in the dining-room sprang up, looking half shamefacedly at each other.

“A—a caller,” Fanny said. “I’m sure it’s only——”

The door was flung open, and his Grace of Avon stood upon the threshold, booted and spurred, and great-coated. Beside him, her hand in his, was Léonie, flushed and radiant. She had shed her cloak and hat, and her bright curls were tumbled.

There was an outcry. Fanny ran forward, exclaiming incoherently; Rupert waved his napkin over his head.

“What did I tell you?” he shouted. “Mademoiselle de Saint-Vire!”

His Grace raised one white hand, holding them in check. A curiously proud smile hovered about his mouth.

“No, Rupert,” he said, and bowed slightly. “I have the honour to present to you all—my Duchess.”

“Thunder an’ turf!” gasped Rupert, and surged forward.

Fanny reached Léonie first.

“Oh, my sweet life! I am so glad—I can hardly believe—Where did you find her, Justin? Silly, silly child! We have been in such a taking—Kiss me again, my love!”

Rupert pushed her aside.

“Hey, you little madcap!” he said, and kissed her soundly. “What a sister you have given me, Justin! I knew you’d find her! But married already, egad! It beats all, so it does!”

Merivale thrust him away.

“My dear little Léonie!” he said. “Justin, I felicitate you!”

Then Marling and Davenant in their turn pushed forward. Armand grasped Avon’s hand.

“And my permission?” he asked with mock dignity.

Avon snapped his fingers.

“So much for your permission, my dear Armand,” he said, and looked across at Léonie, surrounded by the vociferous family.

“Where was she?” Armand tugged at his sleeve.

His Grace was still watching Léonie.

“Where was she? Where I had expected her to be. In Anjou, with the Curé I spoke of,” he said. “Well, Fanny? Have I your approval?”

She embraced him.

“My dear, ’tis what I planned for you months ago! But to be married thus secretly when I had dreamed of a truly magnificent wedding! It’s too bad, I declare! Dear, dear child! I could weep for joy!”

A hush fell. In the doorway, shrinking, Madame de Saint-Vire stood, her eyes fixed on Léonie. There was a moment’s uncomfortable silence. Then Léonie went forward, and put out her hand with pretty hesitancy.

“Ma—mčre?” she said.

Madame gave a shattering sob, and clung to her. Léonie put an arm about her waist, and led her quietly out.

Fanny’s handkerchief appeared.

“The dear, sweet child!” she said huskily.

Davenant took Avon’s hand, and wrung it.

“Justin, I cannot find words to tell you how glad I am!”

“My dear Hugh, this is most unexpected,” drawled his Grace. “I made sure of a despondent head-shake.”

Hugh laughed.

“No, no, my friend, not this time! You have learned to love another better than yourself at last, and I believe that you will make your Duchess a good husband.”

“It is mine intention,” said his Grace, and struggled out of his coat. There was a tinge of colour in his cheeks, but he put up his glass in the old manner, and surveyed the room. “My house seems to be remarkably full of people,” he observed. “Is it possible we were expected?”