“All people, monsieur.  Do you think I have not calculate’, that I shall make a failure of my little enterprise?”

“Bah!”

“Will monsieur not reseat himself?” M. Beaucaire made a low bow.  “So.  We must not be too tire’ for Lady Malbourne’s rout.  Ha, ha!  And you, Jean, Victor, and you others, retire; go in the hallway.  Attend at the entrance, Francois.  So; now we shall talk.  Monsieur, I wish you to think very cool.  Then listen; I will be briefly.  It is that I am well known to be all, entire’ hones’.  Gamblist?  Ah, yes; true and mos profitable; but fair, always fair; every one say that.  Is it not so?  Think of it.  And—­is there never a w’isper come to M. le Duc that not all people belief him to play always hones’?  Ha, ha!  Did it almos’ be said to him las’ year, after when he play’ with Milor’ Tappin’ford at the chocolate-house—­”

“You dirty scandal-monger!” the Duke burst out.  “I’ll—­”

“Monsieur, monsieur!” said the Frenchman.  “It is a poor valor to insult a helpless captor.  Can he retort upon his own victim?  But it is for you to think of what I say.  True, I am not reco’nize on the parade; that my frien’s who come here do not present me to their ladies; that Meestaire Nash has reboff’ me in the pomp-room; still, am I not known for being hones’ and fair in my play, and will I not be belief, even I, when I lif’ my voice and charge you aloud with what is already w’isper’?  Think of it!  You are a noble, and there will be some hang-dogs who might not fall away from you.  Only such would be lef’ to you.  Do you want it tol’?  And you can keep out of France, monsieur?  I have lef’ his service, but I have still the ear of M. de Mirepoix, and he know’ I never lie.  Not a gentleman will play you when you come to Paris.”

The Englishman’s white lip showed a row of scarlet dots upon it.  “How much do you want?” he said.

The room rang with the gay laughter of Beaucaire.  “I hol’ your note’ for seven-hunder’ pound’.  You can have them, monsieur.  Why does a such great man come to play M. Beaucaire?  Because no one else willin’ to play M. le Duc—­he cannot pay.  Ha, ha!  So he come’ to good Monsieur Beaucaire.  Money, ha, ha!  What I want with money?”

His Grace of Winterset’s features were set awry to a sinister pattern.  He sat glaring at his companion in a snarling silence.

“Money?  Pouf!” snapped the little gambler.  “No, no, no!  It is that M. le Duc, impoverish’, somewhat in a bad odor as he is, yet command the entree any-where—­onless I—­Ha, ha!  Eh, monsieur?”

“Ha!  You dare think to force me—­”

M. Beaucaire twirled the tip of his slender mustache around the end of his white forefinger.  Then he said:  “Monsieur and me goin’ to Lady Malbourne’s ball to-night—­M. le Duc and me!”

The Englishman roared, “Curse your impudence!”

“Sit quiet.  Oh, yes, that’s all; we goin’ together.”

“No!”