He was interrupted by a loud commotion from without.  The door was flung open, and the young Count of Beaujolais bounded in and threw his arms about the neck of M. Beaucaire.

“Philippe!” he cried.  “My brother, I have come to take you back with me.”

M. de Mirepoix followed him, bowing as a courtier, in deference; but M. Beaucaire took both his hands heartily.  Molyneux came after, with Mr. Nash, and closed the door.

“My warmest felicitations,” said the Marquis.  “There is no longer need for your incognito.”

“Thou best of masters!” said Beaucaire, touching him fondly on the shoulder.  “I know.  Your courier came safely.  And so I am forgiven!  But I forget.”  He turned to the lady.  She had begun to tremble exceedingly.  “Faires’ of all the English fair,” he said, as the gentlemen bowed low to her deep courtesy, “I beg the honor to presen’ to Lady Mary Carlisle, M. le Comte de Beaujolais.  M. de Mirepoix has already the honor.  Lady Mary has been very kind to me, my frien’s; you mus’ help me make my acknowledgment.  Mademoiselle and gentlemen, will you give me that favour to detain you one instan’?”

“Henri,” he turned to the young Beaujolais, “I wish you had shared my masque—­I have been so gay!” The surface of his tone was merry, but there was an undercurrent, weary—­sad, to speak of what was the mood, not the manner.  He made the effect of addressing every one present, but he looked steadily at Lady Mary.  Her eyes were fixed upon him, with a silent and frightened fascination, and she trembled more and more.  “I am a great actor, Henri.  These gentlemen are yet scarce convince’ I am not a lackey!  And I mus’ tell you that I was jus’ now to be expelled for having been a barber!”

“Oh, no!” the ambassador cried out.  “He would not be content with me; he would wander over a strange country.”

“Ha, ha, my Mirepoix!  And what is better, one evening I am oblige’ to fight some frien’s of M. de Winterset there, and some ladies and cavaliers look on, and they still think me a servant.  Oh, I am a great actor!  ’Tis true there is not a peasant in France who would not have then known one ‘born’; but they are wonderful, this English people, holding by an idea once it is in their heads—­a mos’ worthy quality.  But my good Molyneux here, he had speak to me with courtesy, jus’ because I am a man an’ jus’ because he is always kind. (I have learn’ that his great-grandfather was a Frenchman.) So I sen’ to him and tell him ev’rything, and he gain admittance for me here to-night to await my frien’s.

“I was speaking to messieurs about my cousin, who will meddle in the affair’ of his relatives.  Well, that gentleman, he make a marriage for me with a good and accomplish’ lady, very noble and very beautiful—­and amiable.” (The young count at his elbow started slightly at this, but immediately appeared to wrap himself in a mantle of solemn thought.) “Unfortunately, when my cousin arrange’