espective parts so unerringly up to now, had paused a while, just
as if an invisible curtain had come down, marking the end of a scene,
and the interval during which the players might recover strength and
energy to resume their roles. The Prince of Wales as foremost spectator
said nothing for the moment, and beyond the doorway, the audience there
assembled seemed suddenly to be holding its breath, waiting--eager,
expectant, palpitation--for what would follow now.

Only here and there the gentle frou-frou of a silk skirt, the rhythmic
flutter of a fan, broke those few seconds' deadly, stony silence.

Yet it was all simple enough. A fracas between two ladies, the gentlemen
interposing, a few words of angry expostulation, then the inevitable
suggestion of Belgium or of some other country where the childish and
barbarous custom of settling such matters with a couple of swords had
not been as yet systematically stamped out.

The whole scene--with but slight variations--had occurred scores of
times in London drawing-rooms, English gentlemen had scores of times
crossed the Channel for the purpose of settling similar quarrels in
continental fashion.

Why should the present situation appear so abnormal? Sir Percy
Blakeney--an accomplished gentleman--was past master in the art of
fence, and looked more than a match in strength and dexterity for the
meagre, sable-clad little opponent who had so summarily challenged him
to cross over to France, in order to fight a duel.

But somehow everyone had a feeling at this moment that this proposed
duel would be unlike any other combat every fought between two
antagonists. Perhaps it was the white, absolutely stony and unexpressive
face of Marguerite which suggested a latent tragedy: perhaps it was the
look of unmistakable horror in Juliette's eyes, or that of triumph
in those of Chauvelin, or even that certain something in His Royal
Highness' face, which seemed to imply that the Prince, careless man of
the world as he was, would have given much to prevent this particular
meeting from taking place.

Be that as it may, there is no doubt that a certain wave of electrical
excitement swept over the little crowd assembled there, the while
the chief actor in the little drama, the inimitable dandy, Sir Percy
Blakeney himself, appeared deeply engrossed in removing a speck of
powder from the wide black satin ribbon which held his gold-rimmed
eye-glass.

"Gentlemen!" said His Royal Highness su