“I do not think, myself, that his punishment was adequate; but then, I am not a courtier, and should be rather glad than not, to be sent away to any estates I might have.”

“But,” Desmond remarked, “I suppose the punishment is a severe one to these men, accustomed to a round of pleasure and dissipation, and who consider it the highest of earthly honours to be in favour with the king.  However, no one could be kinder than His Majesty has been, on the subject.  At the reception last night, at which he ordered the baron and his daughter to appear, he showed her the most marked favour, and particularly put a stop to all scandals, by saying loudly that de Tulle had never seen her, after the first morning of her capture.”

Six days later, when Desmond was engaged in the fencing room, Callaghan came in, and told him that a gentleman was at his quarters, wishing particularly to see him.

“What is his name?”

“Sure, and I don’t know, your honour.  He did not mention it, and it was not for the likes of me to ask him.”

“Ridiculous, Mike!  In future, when anyone comes and wishes to see me, you will say, ‘What name shall I tell Mr. Kennedy?’”

He put on his uniform coat reluctantly, for he was engaged in an interesting bout with a professor, who was an old friend of the maitre d’armes.  As he entered his room, a young man, who had been staring out of the window, and drumming impatiently with his fingers, turned.  He was a stranger to Desmond.

“I am Desmond Kennedy, sir,” the young officer said.  “To what do I owe the honour of this visit?”

The other did not reply, but stood looking at him, in so strange and earnest a way, that Desmond felt almost uneasy.

“Sir,” his visitor said at last, advancing to him and holding out both hands, “when I tell you that my name is Philip de la Vallee, you will understand what must strike you as my singular behaviour.  I arrived last night at Versailles, and heard all that had happened.  You can imagine, therefore, that my heart is almost too full for words, with gratitude and thankfulness.”

Desmond was moved by the emotion of his visitor, and their hands met in a hearty clasp.  Monsieur de la Vallee was a young man, of four or five and twenty, well proportioned, and active and sinewy from his devotion to field sports.  He was about the same height as Desmond himself, but the latter, who had not yet finished growing, was larger boned, and would broaden into a much bigger and more powerful man.

“Henceforth, Monsieur Kennedy,” de la Vallee went on, “I hope that we shall be as brothers, and more.  Had it not been for you, my life would have been a ruined one.  What agony have I been saved!  It makes me mad, to think that I was idling at home, ignorant that my beloved had been carried away.  I do not blame the baron for not informing me, and I acknowledge that the reasons he gave me were good ones.  I could have done nothing, and should but have added to his troubles by my anxiety and anger.  Still, he told me that, in another day or two, he would have felt that I ought no longer to be kept in the dark, and would have summoned me to Paris.  I am thankful now that he did not do so, for I believe that my impotence to do anything would have driven me almost to distraction.”