from such intercourse with Clement as could excite suspicion.  Besides, he was a good deal away at St. Germain with the Duke.  All this I did not understand.  I was vexed with Clement for having seemed to doubt us, and I did not refrain from showing my annoyance that he should have accepted any kind of office in the rotten French State.  It seemed to me a fall from his dignity.  On this he told me that it was not purchased, and it was serving under a true and loyal man, whom he felt bound to support.  If any one could steer between the Prince and the Cardinal, and bring some guarantee for the people out of the confusion, it was the Keeper of the Seals, the head of the only party who cared more for the good of the country than their private malice and hatred.

‘And,’ he said diffidently, ’if under M. Mole’s patronage, the steps could be gained without loss of honour or principle, you remember that there is a noblesse de la robe, which might remove some of Madame de Ribaumont’s objections, though I do not presume to compare it with the blood of the Crusaders.’

I am ashamed to say that I answered, ‘I should think not!’ and then I am afraid I reproached him for bartering the glorious independence that had once rendered him far more than noble, for the mere tinsel show of rank that all alike thought despicable.  How I hate myself when I recall that I told him that if he had done so for my sake he had made a mistake; and as for loyalty rallying round the French Crown, I believed in no such thing; they were all alike, and cared for nothing but their ambitions and their hatreds.

Before anything had been said to soften these words—­while he was still standing grave and stiff, like one struck by a blow—­in came the others from the window.  Meg, in fact, could not keep Cecile d’Aubepine back any longer from hindering such shocking impropriety as out tete-a-tete.  We overheard her saving her little girl from corruption by a frightful French fib that the gentleman in black was Mademoiselle de Ribaumont’s English priest.

I am sure out parting need have excited no suspicions.  We were cold and grave and ceremonious as Queen Anne of Austria herself, and poor Lady Ommaney looked from one to the other of us in perplexity.

I went home between wrath and shame.  I knew I had insulted Clement, and I was really mortified and angry that he should have accepted this French promotion instead of fleeing with us, and embracing our religion.  I hated all the French politics together a great deal too much to have any comprehension of the patriotism that made him desire to support the only honest and loyal party, hopeless as it was.  I could not tell Meg about our quarrel; I was glad Eustace was away at the English’s ambassador’s.  I felt as if one Frenchman was as good, or as bad, as another, and I was more gracious to M. de Poligny than ever I had been before that evening.

My mother had a reception in honour of its being Mid-Lent week.  Solivet was there, and, for a wonder, both the d’Aubepines, for the Count had come home suddenly with message from the Prince of Conde to the Duke of Orleans.