; a good many thuds and bumps, a few groans,
a renewal of the attack, more thuds and groans, and the discomfited
group of roisterers fled in every direction.

Bobby with a smile turned to the two motionless figures whom he had so
opportunely rescued from an unpleasant plight.

"Just a few turbulent blackguards," he said lightly, as he made a quick
attempt at readjusting the set of his coat and the position of his satin
stock. "There was not much fight in them really, and . . ."

He had, of course, lost his hat in the brief if somewhat stormy
encounter and now--as he turned--the thin streak of light from the
street-lamp fell full upon his face with its twinkling, deep-set eyes,
and the half-humorous, self-deprecatory curl of the firm mouth.

A simultaneous exclamation came from his two proteges and stopped the
easy flow of his light-hearted words. He peered closely into the gloom
and it was his turn now to exclaim, half doubting, wholly astonished:

"Mademoiselle Crystal . . . M. le Comte. . . ."

"Indeed, Sir," broke in the Comte slowly, and with a voice that seemed
to be trembling with emotion, "it is to my daughter and to myself that
you have just rendered a signal and generous service. For this I tender
you my thanks, yet believe me, I pray you when I say that both she and
I would rather have suffered any humiliation or ill-usage from that
rough crowd than owe our safety and comfort to you."

There was so much contempt, hatred even, in the tone of voice of this
old man whose manner habitually was a pattern of moderation and of
dignity that for the moment Clyffurde was completely taken aback.
Puzzlement fought with resentment and with the maddening sense that he
was anyhow impotent to avenge even so bitter an insult as had just been
hurled upon him--against a man of the Comte's years and status.

"M. le Comte," he said at last, "will you let me remind you that the
other day when you turned me out of your house like a dishonest servant,
you would not allow me to say a single word in my own justification? The
man on whose word you condemned me then without a hearing, is a
scatter-brained braggart who you yourself must know is not a man to be
trusted and . . ."

"Pardon me, Monsieur," broke in the Comte with perfect sangfroid, "even
if I acted on that evening with undue haste and ill-considered judgment,
many things have happened since which you yourself surely would not wish
to discuss with me, just when you ha