rumor ran, the prince’s caprice elected in preference the discipline of Vincennes, to which retirement the furious king had consigned him.  The story was the staple gossip of all polite Europe; and Captain Rohrer, having in his mind a purpose to make use of it in leading up to a statement that should be general to the damage of all Frenchwomen, and which a Frenchman might not pass over as he might a jog of the elbow, repeated it with garbled truths to make a scandal of a story which bore none on a plain relation.

He did not reach his deduction.  M. de Chateaurien, breaking into his narrative, addressed him very quietly.  “Monsieur,” he said, “none but swine deny the nobleness of that good and gentle lady, Mademoiselle la Princesse de Bourbon-Conti.  Every Frenchman know’ that her cousin is a bad rebel and ingrate, who had only honor and rispec’ for her, but was so wilful he could not let even the king say, ’You shall marry here, you shall marry there.’  My frien’s,” the young man turned to the others, “may I ask you to close roun’ in a circle for one moment?  It is clearly shown that the Duke of Orleans is a scurvy fellow, but not—­” he wheeled about and touched Captain Rohrer on the brow with the back of his gloved hand—­“but not so scurvy as thou, thou swine of the gutter!”

Two hours later, with perfect ease, he ran Captain Rohrer through the left shoulder—­after which he sent a basket of red roses to the Duke of Winterset.  In a few days he had another captain to fight.  This was a ruffling buck who had the astounding indiscretion to proclaim M. de Chateaurien an impostor.  There was no Chateaurien, he swore.  The Frenchman laughed in his face, and, at twilight of the same day, pinked him carefully through the right shoulder.  It was not that he could not put aside the insult to himself, he declared to Mr. Molyneux, his second, and the few witnesses, as he handed his wet sword to his lackey—­one of his station could not be insulted by a doubt of that station—­but he fought in the quarrel of his friend Winterset.  This rascal had asserted that M. le Duc had introduced an impostor.  Could he overlook the insult to a friend, one to whom he owed his kind reception in Bath?  Then, bending over his fallen adversary, he whispered:  “Naughty man, tell your master find some better quarrel for the nex’ he sen’ agains’ me.”

The conduct of M. de Chateaurien was pronounced admirable.

There was no surprise when the young foreigner fell naturally into the long train of followers of the beautiful Lady Mary Carlisle, nor was there great astonishment that he should obtain marked favor in her eyes, shown so plainly that my Lord Townbrake, Sir Hugh Guilford, and the rich Squire Bantison, all of whom had followed her through three seasons, swore with rage, and his Grace of Winterset stalked from her aunt’s house with black brows.

Meeting the Duke there on the evening after his second encounter de Chateaurien smiled upon him brilliantly.  “It was badly done; oh, so badly!” he whispered.  “Can you afford to have me strip’ of my mask by any but yourself?  You, who introduce’ me?  They will say there is some bad scandal that I could force you to be my god-father.  You mus’ get the courage yourself.”