comely, disgusted me from the first, and I have lived in the theatre almost as if in a convent.  The good old pedant has been like a watchful father to me, and as for Herode, he would have severely chastised any one who dared to touch me with the tip of his finger, or even to pronounce a vulgar word in my presence.  Although they are only obscure actors, they are very honourable, worthy men, and I trust you will be good enough to help them if they ever find themselves in need of assistance.  I owe it partly to them that I can lift my forehead for your kiss without a blush of shame, and proudly declare myself worthy, so far as purity is concerned, to be your daughter.  My only regret is to have been the innocent cause of the misfortune that has overtaken the duke, your son.  I could have wished to enter your family, my dear father, under more favourable auspices.”

“You have nothing to reproach yourself with, my sweet child, for you could not divine these mysteries, which have been suddenly disclosed by a combination of circumstances that would be considered romantic and improbable, even in a novel; and my joy at finding you as worthy in every way to be my beloved and honoured daughter, as if you had not lived amid all the dangers of such a career, makes up for the pain and anxiety caused by the illness and danger of my son.  Whether he lives or dies, I shall never for one moment blame you for anything in connection with his misfortune.  In any event, it was your virtue and courage that saved him from being guilty of a crime that I shudder to contemplate.  And now, tell me, who was the handsome young man among your liberators who seemed to direct the attack, and who wounded Vallombreuse?  An actor doubtless, though it appeared to me that he had a very noble bearing, and magnificent courage.”

“Yes, my dear father,” Isabelle replied, with a most lovely and becoming blush, “he is an actor, a member of our troupe; but if I may venture to betray his secret, which is already known to the Duke of Vallombreuse, I will tell you that the so-called Captain Fracasse conceals under his mask a noble countenance, as indeed you already know, and under his theatrical pseudonym, the name of an illustrious family.”

“True!” rejoined the prince, “I have heard something about that already.  It would certainly have been astonishing if an ordinary, low-born actor had ventured upon so bold and rash a course as running counter to a Duke of Vallombreuse, and actually entering into a combat with him; it needs noble blood for such daring acts.  Only a gentleman can conquer a gentleman, just as a diamond can only be cut by a diamond.”

The lofty pride of the aged prince found much consolation in the knowledge that his son had not been attacked and wounded by an adversary of low origin; there was nothing compromising in a duel between equals, and he drew a deep breath of relief at thought of it.

“And pray, what is the real name of this valiant champion?” smilingly asked the prince, with a roguish twinkle in his dark eyes—­“this dauntless knight, and brave defender of innocence and purity!”