“Expected?” echoed Rupert. “Stap me, but that’s rich! We’ve done naught but expect you for the past ten days, I’ll have you know! It’s very well for you to go careering off to Anjou, but it’s mighty poor sport for us. What with Armand hopping in and out like a jack-in-the-box, and Madame upstairs with the vapours, and half Paris forcing its way in to nose out the mystery, the house is a veritable ants’ nest. I believe Merivale still sleeps with de Châtelet, for I don’t see him here at breakfast, thank the Lord!”

“What I want to know,” said Merivale, ignoring his lordship, “is this: did you journey all the way to Anjou in that preposterous gold dress?”

“Faith, he must have startled the country-side!” chuckled Rupert.

“No, my friends, no,” sighed his Grace. “I changed it for more sober garments at the first halt. Armand, is all well?”

“Completely, Justin! My sister wrote her confession as soon as she was able, and mine erstwhile nephew is to have a farm, and retire from Society. I owe you a debt of gratitude which I can never hope to repay.”

His Grace poured himself out a glass of burgundy.

“I have taken payment, my dear, in the person of your niece,” he said, and smiled.

Then Léonie came in, and went at once to Avon’s side.

“My mother desires to be left alone,” she said gravely. The sparkle came into her eyes again. “Oh, I am so very pleased to see you all again!”

Rupert nudged Davenant.

“Look at Justin’s face!” he whispered. “Did you ever see aught to equal the pride of him? Léonie, I’m devilish hungry, and with your permission I’ll go on with my capon.”

“I am very hungry too,” she nodded. “Madame, you have no idea how nice it is to be a married lady!”

“Oh, have I not indeed?” cried my lady. “How am I to take that?” She led Léonie to her own place at the foot of the table. “Sit down, my love!”

“Madame, that is where you sit!” Léonie said.

“My sweet, I am a guest in your house now,” said Fanny, and curtsied.

Léonie looked at Avon inquiringly.

“Yes, infant. Sit down.”

“Voyons, I feel very important!” Léonie said, settling herself in the high-backed chair. “Rupert shall sit beside me on one side, and—and——” she debated. “M. de Saint—I mean, my uncle, on the other.”

“Very prettily done, my dear,” nodded her ladyship, and went to a seat on Avon’s right.

“And since I am now a Duchess,” said Léonie, twinkling, “Rupert must treat me with respect, n’est-ce pas, Monseigneur?”

Avon smiled at her across the table.

“You have only to say the word, mignonne, and he shall be cast forth.”

“Respect be damned!” said Rupert. “I’ll have you remember you’re my sister now, child! Lord, where are my wits!” He sprang up, wine-glass in hand. “I give you all a toast!” he said. “The Duchess of Avon!”

They rose as one.

“The Duchess!” Davenant bowed.

“My dearest sister!” Fanny cried.

“My wife!” said his Grace softly.

Léonie stood up, blushing, and, taking Rupert’s hand, jumped on to her chair.

“Thank you very much!” she said. “May I give a toast, please?”

“Ay, bless you!” said Rupert.

“Monseigneur!” Léonie said, and made him a quaint little bow. “Oh, where is my glass? Rupert, hand it up to me quickly!”

The Duke’s health was duly drunk.

“And now,” said Léonie, “I drink to Rupert, because he has been very good, and useful to me!”

“Here’s to you, brave lad!” said his lordship gravely. “What now, minx?”

Still perched upon the chair Léonie said gleefully:

“Voyons, I get higher and higher in the world!”

“You’ll fall off the chair if you jump like that, silly chit!” Rupert warned her.

“Do not interrupt me,” said Léonie reprovingly. “I am making a speech.”

“Lord save us, what next will you be at?” Rupert said, unrepentant.

“Tais-toi, imbécile! . . . First I was a peasant, and then I became a page. Then I was made Monseigneur’s ward, and now I am a Duchess! I am become very respectable, n’est-ce pas?”

His Grace was at her side, and lifted her down from the chair.

“My infant,” he said, “duchesses do not dance on chairs, nor do they call their brothers ‘imbécile’.”

Léonie twinkled irrepressibly.

“I do,” she said firmly.

Rupert shook his head at her.

“Justin’s in the right of it,” he said. “You’ll have to mend your ways, spitfire. No more bouquets from Princes of the Blood, eh, Justin? Dignity! That’s the thing! You must let your hair grow too, and speak to me politely. I’ll be pinked an I’ll have a sister who tells all my friends I’m an imbecile! Politeness, my lady, and some of your husband’s haughtiness! That’s what you must have, isn’t it, Fan?”

“Ah, bah!” said the Duchess of Avon.