eestaire Nash had reboff me; I had no other
way excep' to use this fellow. So I say, 'Take me to Lady Malbourne's
ball as "Chateaurien."' I throw off my wig, and shave, and behol', I am
M. le Duc de Castle Nowhere. Ha, ha! You see?"

The young man's manner suddenly changed. He became haughty, menacing.
He stretched out his arm, and pointed at Winterset. "Now I am no
'Beaucaire,' messieurs. I am a French gentleman. The man who introduce'
me at the price of his honor, and then betray' me to redeem it, is that
coward, that card-cheat there!"

Winterset made a horrible effort to laugh. The gentlemen who surrounded
him fell away as from pestilence. "A French gentleman!" he sneered
savagely, and yet fearfully. "I don't know who you are. Hide behind as
many toys and ribbons as you like; I'll know the name of the man who
dares bring such a charge!"

"Sir!" cried de Mirepoix sharply, advancing a step towards him; but he
checked himself at once. He made a low bow of state, first to the young
Frenchman, then to Lady Mary and the company. "Permit me, Lady Mary
and gentlemen," he said, "to assume the honor of presenting you to His
Highness, Prince Louis-Philippe de Valois, Duke of Orleans, Duke of
Chartres, Duke of Nemours, Duke of Montpeti'sier, First Prince of
the Blood Royal, First Peer of France, Lieutenant-General of French
Infantry, Governor of Dauphine, Knight of the Golden Fleece, Grand
Master of the Order of Notre Dame, of Mount Carmel, and of St. Lazarus
in Jerusalem; and cousin to His most Christian Majesty, Louis the
Fifteenth, King of France."

"Those are a few of my brother's names," whispered Henri of Beaujolais
to Molyneux. "Old Mirepoix has the long breath, but it take' a strong
man two day' to say all of them. I can suppose this Winterset know' now
who bring the charge!"

"Castle Nowhere!" gasped Beau Nash, falling back upon the burly prop of
Mr. Bantison's shoulder.

"The Duke of Orleans will receive a message from me within the hour!"
said Winterset, as he made his way to the door. His face was black with
rage and shame.

"I tol' you that I would not soil my hand with you," answered the young
man. "If you send a message no gentleman will bring it. Whoever shall
bear it will receive a little beating from Francois."

He stepped to Lady Mary's side. Her head was bent low, her face averted.
She seemed to breathe with difficulty, and leaned heavily upon a chair.
"Monseigneur," she faltered in a half whisper,