“He is the Baron de Sigognac,” Isabelle replied blushingly, with a slight trembling perceptible in her sweet, low voice.  “I reveal his name fearlessly to you, my dear father, for you are both too just and too generous to visit upon his head the disastrous consequences of a victory that he deplores.”

“De Sigognac?” said the prince.  “I thought that ancient and illustrious family was extinct.  Is he not from Gascony?”

“Yes; his home is in the neighbourhood of Dax.”

“Exactly—­and the de Sigognacs have an appropriate coat of arms—­three golden storks on an azure field.  Yes, it is as I said, an ancient and illustrious family—­one of the oldest and most honourable in France.  Paramede de Sigognac figured gloriously in the first crusade.  A Raimbaud de Sigognac, the father of this young man without doubt, was the devoted friend and companion of Henri IV, in his youth, but was not often seen at court in later years.  It was said that he was embarrassed financially, I remember.”

“So much so, that when our troupe sought refuge of a stormy night under his roof, we found his son living in a half ruined chateau, haunted by bats and owls, where his youth was passing in sadness and misery.  We persuaded him to come away with us, fearing that he would die there of starvation and melancholy—­but I never saw misfortune so bravely borne.”

“Poverty is no disgrace,” said the prince, “and any noble house that has preserved its honour unstained may rise again from its ruins to its ancient height of glory and renown.  But why did not the young baron apply to some of his father’s old friends in his distress? or lay his case before the king, who is the natural refuge of all loyal gentlemen under such circumstances?”

“Misfortunes such as his are apt to breed timidity, even with the bravest,” Isabelle replied, “and pride deters many a man from betraying his misery to the world.  When the Baron de Sigognac consented to accompany us to Paris, he hoped to find some opportunity there to retrieve his fallen fortunes; but it has not presented itself.  In order not to be an expense to the troupe, he generously and nobly insisted upon taking the place of one of the actors, who died on the way, and who was a great loss to us.  As he could appear upon the stage always masked, he surely did not compromise his dignity by it.”

“Under this theatrical disguise, I think that, without being a sorcerer, I can detect a little bit of romance, eh?” said the prince, with a mischievous smile.  “But I will not inquire too closely; I know how good and true you are well enough not to take alarm at any respectful tribute paid to your charms.  I have not been with you long enough yet as a father, my sweet child, to venture upon sermonizing.”