“Fortunately the duke is not a very clever man,” said she.  “Oh, by the way, your name’s George Sampson, and you come from Newmarket; and you are leaving because you took more to drink than was good for you.  Good-by, Mr. Aycon.  I do hope that we shall meet again under pleasanter circumstances.”

“They could not be pleasanter—­but they might be more prolonged,” said I.

“It was so good of you to come,” she said, pressing my hand.

“The carriage is but a quarter of a mile off!” cried Suzanne warningly.

“How very annoying it is!  I wish to Heaven the Algerians had eaten the duke!”

“I shall not forget my day here,” I assured her.

“You won’t?  It’s charming of you.  Oh, how dull it will be now!  It only wanted the arrival of—­Well, good-by!”

And with a final and long pressure of the duchess’ hand, I, in the garb and personality of George Sampson, dismissed for drunkenness, walked out of the gate of the château.

“One thing,” I observed to myself as I started, “would seem highly probable—­and that is, that this sort of thing has happened before.”

The idea did not please me.  I like to do things first.

CHAPTER IV.

The Duchess Defines Her Position.

I walked on at a leisurely pace; the heavy carriage was very near the top of the hill.  In about three minutes’ time we met.  There sat alone in the carriage a tall dark man, with a puffy white face, a heavy mustache, and stern cold eyes.  He was smoking a cigar.  I plucked my hat from my head and made as if to pass by.

“Who’s this?” he called out, stopping the carriage.

I began to recite my lesson in stumbling French.

“Why, what are you?  Oh, you’re English!  Then in Heaven’s name, speak English—­not that gabble.”  And then he repeated his order, “Speak English,” in English, and continued in that language, which he spoke with stiff formal correctness.

He heard my account of myself with unmoved face.

“Have you any writings—­any testimonials?” he asked.

“No, my lord,” I stammered, addressing him in style I thought most natural to my assumed character.

“That’s a little curious, isn’t it?  You become intoxicated everywhere, perhaps?”

“I’ve never been intoxicated in my life, my lord,” said I, humbly but firmly.

“Then you dispute the justice of your dismissal?”

“Yes, my lord.”  I thought such protest due to my original.

He looked at me closely, smoking his cigar the while.

“You made love to the chambermaids?” he asked suddenly.

“No, my lord.  One evening, my lord, it was very hot, and—­and the wine, my lord—­”

“Then you were intoxicated?”

I fumbled with my hat, praying that the fellow would move on.

“What servants are there?” he asked, pointing to the house.