rdinal gave me no choice
in the matter touching your son. Since then my motive has lain in my
friendship for the boy. He has been kind and affectionate to one who
has known little kindness or affection in life. I seek to repay him by
advancing his interests and his happiness. That, Monsieur, is why I am
here to-day--to shield him from St. Auban and his fellows should they
appear again, as I believe they will."

The old man stood up and eyed me for a moment as steadily as his
vacillating glance would permit him, then he held out his hand.

"I trust, Monsieur," he said, "that you will do me the honour to dine
with us, and that whilst you are at Blois we shall see you at Canaples
as often as it may please you to cross its threshold."

I took his hand, but without enthusiasm, for I understood that his words
sprang from no warmth of heart for me, but merely from the fact that he
beheld in me a likely ally to his designs of raising his daughter to the
rank of Duchess.

Eugene de Canaples may have been a good-for-nothing knave; still,
methought his character scarce justified the callous indifference
manifested by this selfish, weak-minded old man towards his own son.

There was a knock at the door, and a lackey--the same Guilbert whom
I had seen at Choisy in Mademoiselle's company--appeared with the
announcement that the Chevalier was served.

CHAPTER VIII. THE FORESHADOW OF DISASTER

In the spacious dining salon of the Chateau de Canaples I found the two
daughters of my host awaiting us--those same two ladies of the coach
in Place Vendome and of the hostelry at Choisy, the dark and stately
icicle, Yvonne, and the fair, playful doll, Genevieve.

I bowed my best bow as the Chevalier presented me, and from the corner
of my eye, with inward malice, I watched them as I did so. Genevieve
curtsied with a puzzled air and a sidelong glance at her sister. Yvonne
accorded me the faintest, the coldest, inclination of her head, whilst
her cheeks assumed a colour that was unwonted.

"We have met before, I think, Monsieur," she said disdainfully.

"True, Mademoiselle--once," I answered, thinking only of the coach.

"Twice, Monsieur," she corrected, whereupon I recalled how she had
surprised me with my arm about the waist of the inn-keeper's daughter,
and had Heaven given me shame I might have blushed. But if sweet Yvonne
thought to bring Gaston de Luynes to task for profiting by the good
things which God's providence sen