“Thank you; you are very kind,” he said gravely.  “I shall certainly give myself the pleasure very soon.”

As Shirley passed on with Chauvenet Mrs. Sanderson launched upon the girl’s praises, but she found him suddenly preoccupied.

“The girl has gone to your head.  Why didn’t you tell me you knew the Claibornes?”

“I don’t remember that you gave me a chance; but I’ll say now that I intend to know them better.”

She bade him take her to the drawing-room.  As they went down through the house they found that the announcement of the Emperor Johann Wilhelm’s death had cast a pall upon the company.  All the members of the diplomatic corps had withdrawn at once as a mark of respect and sympathy for Baron von Marhof, and at midnight the ball-room held all of the company that remained.  Armitage had not sought Shirley again.  He found a room that had been set apart for smokers, threw himself into a chair, lighted a cigar and stared at a picture that had no interest for him whatever.  He put down his cigar after a few whiffs, and his hand went to the pocket in which he had usually carried his cigarette case.

“Ah, Mr. Armitage, may I offer you a cigarette?”

He turned to find Chauvenet close at his side.  He had not heard the man enter, but Chauvenet had been in his thoughts and he started slightly at finding him so near.  Chauvenet held in his white-gloved hand a gold cigarette case, which he opened with a deliberate care that displayed its embellished side.  The smooth golden surface gleamed in the light, the helmet in blue, and the white falcon flashed in Armitage’s eyes.  The meeting was clearly by intention, and a slight smile played about Chauvenet’s lips in his enjoyment of the situation.  Armitage smiled up at him in amiable acknowledgment of his courtesy, and rose.

“You are very considerate, Monsieur.  I was just at the moment regretting our distinguished host’s oversight in providing cigars alone.  Allow me!”

He bent forward, took the outstretched open case into his own hands, removed a cigarette, snapped the case shut and thrust it into his trousers pocket,—­all, as it seemed, at a single stroke.

“My dear sir,” began Chauvenet, white with rage.

“My dear Monsieur Chauvenet,” said Armitage, striking a match, “I am indebted to you for returning a trinket that I value highly.”

The flame crept half the length of the stick while they regarded each other; then Armitage raised it to the tip of his cigarette, lifted his head and blew a cloud of smoke.

“Are you able to prove your property, Mr. Armitage?” demanded Chauvenet furiously.

“My dear sir, they have a saying in this country that possession is nine points of the law.  You had it—­now I have it—­wherefore it must be mine!”

Chauvenet’s rigid figure suddenly relaxed; he leaned against a chair with a return of his habitual nonchalant air, and waved his hand carelessly.