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The Duke saw the look she did not know she gave the Frenchman, and he lost countenance for a moment. "We approach a climax, eh, monsieur?" said M. de Chateaurien. There fell a clear September night, when the moon was radiant over town and country, over cobbled streets and winding roads.
Her beauty shone dazzlingly on him out of the dimness. "Never!" she flashed defiantly as she was closed in. "Never!" "Never!" The rose fell at his feet. "A rose lasts till morning," said a voice behind him. Turning, M. de Chateaurien looked beamingly upon the face of the Duke of Winterset. "'Tis already the daylight," he replied, pointing to the east.
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."
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.
It was well agreed by the fashion of Bath that M. le Duc de Chateaurien was a person of sensibility and haut ton; that his retinue and equipage surpassed in elegance; that his person was exquisite, his manner engaging. He was the idol of the dowagers within a week after his appearance; matrons warmed to him; young belles looked sweetly on him, while the gentlemen were won to admiration or envy.
He was of prodigious wealth: old Mr. Bicksit, who dared not, for his fame's sake, fail to have seen all things, had visited Chateaurien under the present Duke's father, and descanted to the curious upon its grandeurs. The young noble had one fault, he was so poor a gambler. He cared nothing for the hazards of a die or the turn of a card.
"I told you a rose had a short life," was the answer. "Oh, those roses! 'Tis the very greates' rizzon to gather each day a fresh one." He took a red bud from his breast for an instant, and touched it to his lips. "M. de Chateaurien!" It was Lady Mary's voice; she stood at a table where a vacant place had been left beside her. "M. de Chateaurien, we have been waiting very long for you."
The gentleman smiled upon them delightedly. "What enchanting people!" he cried. "Why did I not know, so I might have shout' with them?" The lady noticed the people not at all; whereat, being pleased, the people cheered again. The gentleman offered her his hand; she made a slow courtesy; placed the tips of her fingers upon his own. "I am honored, M. de Chateaurien," she said.
Shall I be chevalier, comte, vicomte, marquis, what? None. Out of compliment to monsieur can I wish to be anything he is not? No, no! I shall be M. le Duc, M. le Duc de de Chateaurien. Ha, ha! You see? You are my confrere." M. Beaucaire trod a dainty step or two, waving his hand politely to the Duke, as though in invitation to join the celebration of his rank.
M. le Duc Chateaurien sprang to his feet without the aid of his lackeys, and bowed low before Lady Mary. "I make ten thousan' apology to be' the cause of a such melee in your presence," he said; and then, turning to Francois, he spoke in French: "Ah, thou scoundrel! A little, and it had been too late." Francois knelt in the dust before him. "Pardon!" he said.
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