ietly, it would excite the worst suspicions. Better by
far lodge his complaint before the king, proclaim his grievances
loudly everywhere, and tell the story in all its details.
Whichever course he takes, evil-minded people will think the
worse; but of the two evils, the latter seems to me to be the
lesser."

"I suppose it would be," Desmond agreed, "though, for my part, I
should be heartily glad if I never heard another word about it."

"You are too modest altogether, Kennedy. Whatever rumours may be
current, concerning the young lady, there can be no doubt that you
come out splendidly, in that you hear a cry of a woman in
distress; you scale walls to get in to her assistance; you and
your servant encounter five of her guards, kill four of them and
bind the other; rescue the maiden, and carry her off, with flying
colours, in the carriage of her abductor. My dear Kennedy, you
will become an object of admiration to all the ladies of the
court."

"That will be absolutely disgusting," Desmond said, angrily. "It
is almost enough to make one wish that one had never interfered in
the affair."

"Pooh, pooh, Kennedy! I am sure that either O'Sullivan or myself
would give, I was going to say a year's pay, though how one would
exist without it I don't know, to have been in your place. Why,
man, if you had captured a standard in battle, after feats of
superhuman bravery, you would not attract half the attention that
will fall to you as a consequence of this adventure. Life in the
court of His Most Christian Majesty is one of the most artificial
possible. The women hide their faces with powder and patches, lace
themselves until they are ready to faint, walk with a mincing air,
and live chiefly upon scandal; but they are women, after all, and
every woman has a spice of romance in her nature, and such an
adventure as yours is the very thing to excite their admiration."

"I know nothing about women," Desmond growled, "and don't want to
know any of them, especially the ladies at the court of Louis."

"Well, of course, Kennedy, if the baron proclaims his wrongs, and
publishes the circumstances of his daughter's abduction and
rescue, the seal of silence will be taken from our lips;
especially as you will, almost to a certainty, be summoned to
Versailles to confirm the lady's story."

"I am afraid that that will be so," Desmond said, despondingly.
"However, it can't be helped, and I suppose one must make the best
of it."

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