“Heh!  On my word, mademoiselle, you make me wish that I could wipe forty years from my account.”  He bowed, and sighed in the fashion that was in vogue when Buckingham came to the wooing of Anne of Austria, and the dynasty of cardinals was at its height.

“France could ill spare those forty years, your Highness.”

“Heh, heh!  So quick of tongue too?  Your daughter has a courtly wit, monsieur.”

“God forbid, your Highness!  She is as pure and good—­”

“Nay, that is but a sorry compliment to the court.  Surely, mademoiselle, you would love to go out into the great world, to hear sweet music, see all that is lovely, and wear all that is costly, rather than look out ever upon the Rue St. Martin, and bide in this great dark house until the roses wither upon your cheeks.”

“Where my father is, I am happy at his side,” said she, putting her two hands upon his sleeve.  “I ask nothing more than I have got.”

“And I think it best that you go up to your room again,” said the old merchant shortly, for the prince, in spite of his age, bore an evil name among women.  He had come close to her as he spoke, and had even placed one yellow hand upon her shrinking arm, while his little dark eyes twinkled with an ominous light.

“Tut, tut!” said he, as she hastened to obey.  “You need not fear for your little dove.  This hawk, at least, is far past the stoop, however tempting the quarry.  But indeed, I can see that she is as good as she is fair, and one could not say more than that if she were from heaven direct.  My carriage waits, gentlemen, and I wish you all a very good day!” He inclined his be-wigged head, and strutted off in his dainty, dandified fashion.  From the window De Catinat could see him slip into the same gilded chariot which had stood in his way as he drove from Versailles.

“By my faith,” said he, turning to the young American, “we all owe thanks to the prince, but it seems to me, sir, that we are your debtors even more.  You have risked your life for my cousin, and but for your cudgel, Dalbert would have had his blade through me when he had me at a vantage.  Your hand, sir!  These are things which a man cannot forget.”

“Ay, you may well thank him, Amory,” broke in the old Huguenot, who had returned after escorting his illustrious guest to the carriage.  “He has been raised up as a champion for the afflicted, and as a helper for those who are in need.  An old man’s blessing upon you, Amos Green, for my own son could not have done for me more than you, a stranger.”

But their young visitor appeared to be more embarrassed by their thanks than by any of his preceding adventures.  The blood flushed to his weather-tanned, clear-cut face, as smooth as that of a boy, and yet marked by a firmness of lip and a shrewdness in the keen blue eyes which spoke of a strong and self-reliant nature.

“I have a mother and two sisters over the water,” said he diffidently.