He mopped his brow with trembling hand and smiled feebly at his countrymen for support.  The colour was coming back into their faces and they could smile with the usual British indifference.

“A very close shave, my crimes!” vouchsafed the stumpy gentleman who kept the books at the bank.

“It’s an ill wind that blows all evil,” said Deppingham.  “Mr. Bowles, you are most welcome.  We were a bit short of able-bodied soldiers.  May we count on you and the men who came with you?”

“To the end, my lord,” said Bowles, almost bursting his jacket by inflation.  The others slapped their legs staunchly.

“Then, we’ll all have breakfast,” announced Lord Deppingham.  “Mr. Saunders, will you be good enough to conduct the recruits to quarters?”

The arrival of the refugees from Aratat gave the chateau a staunch little garrison, not counting the servants, whose loyalty was an uncertain quantity.  The stable men in the dungeon below served as illustrations of what might be expected of the others, despite their profession of fidelity.  Including the house servants, who, perforce, were loyal, there was an able-bodied garrison of sixty men.  After luncheon, Deppingham called his forces together.  He gave fresh instructions, exacted staunch promises, and heard reports from all of his aides.  The chateau by this time had been made practically impregnable to attack from the outside.

“For the time being we are as snug as bugs in a rug,” said Deppingham, when all was over.  “Shall we rejoin the ladies, gentlemen?” He was as calm as a May morning.

The three leaders found the ladies in the shaded balcony, lounging lazily as if no such thing as danger existed.  Below them in the grassy courtyard, a dozen indolent, sensuous Persians were congregated, lying about in the shade with all the abandon of absolute security.  The three women in the balcony had been watching them for an hour, commenting freely upon these creatures from another world.  Neenah, the youngest and prettiest of them all, had wafted kisses to the proud dames above.  She had danced for their amusement.  Her companions sat staring at the ladies at the railing, dark eyes peering with disdain above the veils which hid their faces.

Lady Agnes waved her hand lazily toward the group below, sending a mocking smile to Chase.  “The Asiatic plague,” she said cheerfully.

“The deuce,” broke in her husband, not catching her meaning.  “Has it really broken out—­”

“Deppy, you are the dumbest creature I know,” exclaimed his wife.

Chase smiled broadly.  “She refers to the newly acquired harem, Lord Deppingham.  We’re supposed to die with the Asiatic plague, not to—­not to—­”

“Not to live with it!  Ho, ho, I see, by Jove!” roared Deppingham amiably.  “Splendid!  Harem!  I get the point.  Ripping!”