ented by Sir Percy Blakeney, Bart.

"Lud, Sir Andrew," said Marguerite, with one of her merry infectious
laughs, "look on that pretty picture--the English turkey and the French
bantam."

The simile was quite perfect, and the English turkey looked down with
complete bewilderment upon the dainty little French bantam, which
hovered quite threateningly around him.

"La! sir," said Sir Percy at last, putting up his eye glass and
surveying the young Frenchman with undisguised wonderment, "where, in
the cuckoo's name, did you learn to speak English?"

"Monsieur!" protested the Vicomte, somewhat abashed at the way his
warlike attitude had been taken by the ponderous-looking Englishman.

"I protest 'tis marvellous!" continued Sir Percy, imperturbably, "demmed
marvellous! Don't you think so, Tony--eh? I vow I can't speak the French
lingo like that. What?"

"Nay, I'll vouch for that!" rejoined Marguerite, "Sir Percy has a
British accent you could cut with a knife."

"Monsieur," interposed the Vicomte earnestly, and in still more broken
English, "I fear you have not understand. I offer you the only posseeble
reparation among gentlemen."

"What the devil is that?" asked Sir Percy, blandly.

"My sword, Monsieur," replied the Vicomte, who, though still bewildered,
was beginning to lose his temper.

"You are a sportsman, Lord Tony," said Marguerite, merrily; "ten to one
on the little bantam."

But Sir Percy was staring sleepily at the Vicomte for a moment or two,
through his partly closed heavy lids, then he smothered another yawn,
stretched his long limbs, and turned leisurely away.

"Lud love you, sir," he muttered good-humouredly, "demmit, young man,
what's the good of your sword to me?"

What the Vicomte thought and felt at that moment, when that long-limbed
Englishman treated him with such marked insolence, might fill volumes
of sound reflections. . . . What he said resolved itself into a single
articulate word, for all the others were choked in his throat by his
surging wrath--

"A duel, Monsieur," he stammered.

Once more Blakeney turned, and from his high altitude looked down on the
choleric little man before him; but not even for a second did he seem to
lose his own imperturbable good-humour. He laughed his own pleasant
and inane laugh, and burying his slender, long hands into the capacious
pockets of his overcoat, he said leisurely--"a bloodthirsty young
ruffian, Do you want to make a hole in a law-abiding