he great Bauquel,
squandering his money down at Brighton in order to revenge himself
upon the too plain-speaking Degraux.

Papa Peron was sitting up in bed, Anita by his side. The poor old man
had had one of his good days, the cough was less troublesome. The
doctor had whispered as he went out that if the severe weather mended
a little, they might pull him through. He smiled happily as his young
protege recounted what had happened.

"I have met Degraux once or twice in the years gone by, and I have
been told that prosperity has not spoiled him. But, my dear boy, there
is one little difficulty about that concert next week."

"And that?" asked young Corsini. He was so overjoyed in his new-found
fortune, that he could think of nothing else.

The old Frenchman chuckled quietly. "You will want an evening suit, my
young friend. One does not appear before Royalty in ordinary clothes,
and those not of the newest, does one?"

Nello groaned. The dress-clothes which Papa Peron had purchased
for the engagement at the Parthenon had found their way to the
pawn-brokers a few days ago, to provide food. What a fool he had been
not to make a clean breast of it to Degraux and ask for a few pounds
in advance!

"It crossed my mind to ask for a loan, and I was afraid I might offend
him," explained the young man.

"Quite right, my dear son, quite right. Those wealthy men are
peculiar. We will not trouble this rich gentleman. There are other
ways."

He pointed his thin hand to a little cupboard standing against the
wall. "Go and open the door. Within I have a small private box where I
keep my papers. Bring it to me, please."

Nello obeyed, and carried to him a beautiful little antique casket of
ebony, inlaid with tortoise-shell and silver, with some cipher letters
on the lid. The old man opened it with a key which he wore attached to
a ribbon round his neck.

From the small box he carefully produced an antique ring with a tiny
miniature portrait, exquisitely painted and set with diamonds. This he
pressed reverently to his lips, and then handed it to the young man,
saying:

"This is the likeness of my honoured Master, my Emperor Napoleon the
Third--given to me with his own hand."

He took out a jewelled star, all tarnished. "This is the Order of the
Chevalier of St. Louis, bestowed upon me for my services to----" He
could not finish his sentence; the tears were rolling down his thin,
wasted cheeks.

Brother and sister exchang