Two hours later, with perfect ease, he ran Captain Rohrer through the
left shoulder--after which he sent a basket of red roses to the Duke
of Winterset. In a few days he had another captain to fight. This was
a ruffling buck who had the astounding indiscretion to proclaim M.
de Chateaurien an impostor. There was no Chateaurien, he swore. The
Frenchman laughed in his face, and, at twilight of the same day, pinked
him carefully through the right shoulder. It was not that he could
not put aside the insult to himself, he declared to Mr. Molyneux,
his second, and the few witnesses, as he handed his wet sword to his
lackey--one of his station could not be insulted by a doubt of that
station--but he fought in the quarrel of his friend Winterset. This
rascal had asserted that M. le Duc had introduced an impostor. Could he
overlook the insult to a friend, one to whom he owed his kind reception
in Bath? Then, bending over his fallen adversary, he whispered: "Naughty
man, tell your master find some better quarrel for the nex' he sen'
agains' me."

The conduct of M. de Chateaurien was pronounced admirable.

There was no surprise when the young foreigner fell naturally into the
long train of followers of the beautiful Lady Mary Carlisle, nor was
there great astonishment that he should obtain marked favor in her eyes,
shown so plainly that my Lord Townbrake, Sir Hugh Guilford, and the rich
Squire Bantison, all of whom had followed her through three seasons,
swore with rage, and his Grace of Winterset stalked from her aunt's
house with black brows.

Meeting the Duke there on the evening after his second encounter de
Chateaurien smiled upon him brilliantly. "It was badly done; oh, so
badly!" he whispered. "Can you afford to have me strip' of my mask by
any but yourself? You, who introduce' me? They will say there is some
bad scandal that I could force you to be my god-father. You mus' get the
courage yourself."

"I told you a rose had a short life," was the answer.

"Oh, those roses! 'Tis the very greates' rizzon to gather each day
a fresh one." He took a red bud from his breast for an instant, and
touched it to his lips.

"M. de Chateaurien!" It was Lady Mary's voice; she stood at a table
where a vacant place had been left beside her. "M. de Chateaurien, we
have been waiting very long for you."

The Duke saw the look she did not know she gave the Frenchman, and he
lost countenance for a moment.

"We approach a climax, eh,