a little shorter--a shade nearer
to the ear? It is effective, eh?"

"It gives an air of hardihood," assented the Abbe. "It lends to that
intellectual face something martial. I would almost say that to the
timorous it might appear terrible and overbearing."

Thus they talked until the guests began to arrive, and for Madame de
Chantonnay the time no doubt seemed short enough. For no one appreciated
Albert with such a delicacy of touch as the Abbe Touvent.

The Marquis de Gemosac and Juliette were the last to arrive. The Marquis
looked worn and considerably aged. He excused himself with a hundred
gestures of despair for being late.

"I have so much to do," he whispered. "So much to think of. We are
leaving no stone unturned, and at last we have a clue."

The other guests gathered round.

"But speak, my dear friend, speak," cried Madame de Chantonnay. "You
keep us in suspense. Look around you. We are among friends, as you see.
It is only ourselves."

"Well," replied the Marquis, standing upright and fingering the
snuff-box which had been given to his grandfather by the Great Louis.
"Well, my friends, our invaluable ally, Dormer Colville, has gone to
England. There is a ray of hope. That is all I can tell you."

He looked round, smiled on his audience, and then proceeded to tell them
more, after the manner of any Frenchman.

"What," he whispered, "if an unscrupulous republican government had got
scent of our glorious discovery! What if, panic-stricken, they threw all
vestige of honour to the wind and decided to kidnap an innocent man and
send him to the Iceland fisheries, where so many lives are lost every
winter; with what hopes in their republican hearts, I leave to your
imagination. What if--let us say it for once--Monsieur de Bourbon
should prove a match for them? Alert, hardy, full of resource, a skilled
sailor, he takes his life in his hand with the daring audacity of royal
blood and effects his escape to England. I tell you nothing--"

He held up his hands as if to stay their clamouring voices, and nodded
his head triumphantly toward Albert de Chantonnay, who stood near a lamp
fingering his martial whisker of the left side with the air of one who
would pause at naught.

"I tell you nothing. But such a theory has been pieced together upon
excellent material. It may be true. It may be a dream. And, as I tell
you, our dear friend Dormer Colville, who has nothing at stake, who
loses or gains little by the res