best. Who's the man? Not Lord L'Estrange?"

"I do not think it is he; but I have not yet ascertained. I have told
you all I know. I found her in a state so excited, so unlike herself,
that I had no little difficulty in soothing her into confidence so far.
I could not venture more."

"And she will accept Frank?"

"Had he offered to-day she would have accepted him!"

"It may be a great help to your fortunes, mon cher, if Frank Hazeldean
marry this lady without his father's consent. Perhaps he may be
disinherited. You are next of kin.

"How do you know that?" asked Randal, sullenly.

"It is my business to know all about the chances and connections of
any one with whom I do money matters. I do money matters with young Mr.
Hazeldean; so I know that the Hazeldean property is not entailed; and,
as the squire's half-brother has no Hazeldean blood in him, you have
excellent expectations."

"Did Frank tell you I was next of kin?"

"I rather think so; but I am sure you did."

"I--when?"

"When you told me how important it was to you that Frank should marry
Madame di Negra. Peste! mon cher, do you think I am a blockhead?"

"Well, Baron, Frank is of age, and can marry to please himself. You
implied to me that you could help him in this."

"I will try. See that he call at Madame di Negra's tomorrow, at two
precisely."

"I would rather keep clear of all apparent interference in this matter.
Will you not arrange that he call on her? And do not forget to entangle
him in a post-obit."

"Leave it to me. Any more wine? No?--then let us go to the count's."

CHAPTER XXIV.

The next morning Frank Hazeldean was sitting over his solitary
breakfast-table. It was long past noon. The young man had risen early,
it is true, to attend his military duties, but he had contracted the
habit of breakfasting late. One's appetite does not come early when one
lives in London, and never goes to bed before daybreak.

There was nothing very luxurious or effeminate about Frank's rooms,
though they were in a very dear street, and he paid a monstrous high
price for them. Still, to a practised eye, they betrayed an inmate who
can get through his money, and make very little show for it. The
walls were covered with coloured prints of racers and steeple-chases,
interspersed with the portraits of opera-dancers, all smirk and caper.
Then there was a semi-circular recess covered with red cloth, and fitted
up for smoking, as you might perceiv