“And not even in the Cevennes, Monsieur, will you see such sunsets,” said De Lauson.

“This should not be managed by speculators,” unconsciously pricking the governor’s quick, “nor by the priest’s cold hand.  It should be wholly the king’s.  It would be France’s salvation.  What are they doing there in Paris?”

“Spending money on lace for the Swiss and giving masks at the Palais Royal.”

“Richelieu died too soon; here would have been his fame.”  The marquis never underestimated an enemy.  “If your Excellency will excuse me now, I will sleep.  I am an old man, and sleep calls to me often.  I will join you at supper.”

“The ladies will be delighted.  There is but little here of the life of the court.  When we are not guarding against Indians, we are celebrating religious fetes.”

“Till supper, then, your Excellency.”

And the governor departed to read the messages from the queen.  She had placed all Quebec at the disposal of the marquis in the search for his son.  The governor was greatly mystified.  That the marquis should still call the Chevalier by his former title of count added to this mystery.  Since when did fathers set out for sons of the left hand?  He soon gave up the riddle, confident that the marquis himself would solve it for him.

The marquis rose before sundown and with the assistance of his aged valet made his toilet.  He was dressed in black satin, with white lace ruffles, and across his breast he flung the ribbon of the Chevalier of the Order, in honor of the governor’s attentions.  Presently, from his window he saw the figure of a woman—­young and slender; doubtless some relative of the governor’s.  Patiently he waited for her to turn.  When she did so, a subdued exclamation fell from his lips.  He had seen that face before, once or twice on board the Henri IV.  It was the woman in the grey mask.  He stared hard and long.  Where else had he seen this face?  He was growing old, and sometimes his memory failed him.  Without being conscious of the act, he readjusted his wristbands and the ruffles at his throat.  A handsome young woman at the table would be a recompense for the dullness of the hour.  But he waited in vain at supper for the appearance of the exquisite face.  Like the true courtier he was, he made no inquiries.

When they were at last alone, the governor said:  “I am truly glad you have come to make the Chevalier return to France.  He will never be at peace here.”

“Why?” asked the marquis, weakening his burgundy with water.

“The . . .  That is . . .”  But the governor foundered.

“Why?” repeated the marquis.  “Has he made a fool of himself here as in France?”

“No, Monsieur,” warmly.  “He has proved himself to be a gentleman and a brave soldier.”

“He drinks?”

“Only as a gentleman might; neither does he gamble.”

“Ah!”