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Updated: June 28, 2025
Barnes was talking somewhat incoherently, holding the soldier by the coat and plunging into successive anecdotes about stage folk, while Saint-Prosper, apparently listening, observed the diplomat and Constance, whose conversation he could overhear. "As I said to the Royal Infanta of Spain, flattery flies before truth in your presence, Mademoiselle," sighed the count.
With honor within grasp, deliberately he had sought dishonor, little recking of shame and murder, and childishly husbanding green, red and blue pebbles! Weighing the stones in his hand now, Ernest Saint-Prosper looked at them long and bitterly. For these the honor and pride of an old family had been sold.
Saint-Prosper that afternoon reminded Barnes he had returned from the village without fulfilling his errand. "Dear me!" exclaimed Barnes, his face wrinkling in perplexity. "What have I been thinking about? I don't see how I can go now. Hawkes or O'Flariaty can't be spared, what with lamps to polish and costumes to get in order! Hum!" he mused dubiously.
Barnes gravely demonstrated the action of the scene to Saint-Prosper, and the soldier became collaborator, "abandoning, as it were," wrote the manager in his autobiographical date-book and diary, "the sword for the pen, and the glow of the Champ de Mars for the glimmer of a kerosene lamp."
"Ah, Kate," she said, a moment later, "what a fine-looking young man he is!" "Who?" drawled her sister. "Mr. Saint-Prosper, of course." "He is large enough," retorted Kate, leisurely. "Large enough! O, Kate, what a phlegmatic creature you are!" "Fudge!" said the other as she left the chamber.
"Yes," he said, meaningly, his eyes challenging Saint-Prosper's. "Have you been at Spedella's fencing rooms? Are you in practice?" Saint-Prosper hesitated a moment and the land baron's face fell. Was it possible the other would refuse to meet him?
Not far distant from the blossoming, redolent square was the office of the Trans-Atlantic Steamship Company, where a clerk, with a spray of jessamine in his coat, bent cordially toward Saint-Prosper as the latter entered, and, approaching the desk, inquired: "The Dauphin is advertised to sail to-morrow for France?" "Yes, sir; at twelve o'clock noon."
So he roared out a last blithe farewell, and the guests departed one by one, taking with them flowers in memory of the occasion, until all had left save Constance, the count, Saint-Prosper and the manager.
"Nor being worsted by Saint-Prosper with yours!" she retorted quickly. Mauville looked virulent, but Susan, feeling that she had retaliated in ample measure, recovered her usual equanimity of temper and placed a conciliatory hand sympathetically on his arm. "We have both had a good deal to try us, haven't we? But how stupid men are!" she added suddenly.
Marshaled by disorder, armed with drollery and divers-hued banners, they marched to the Castle of Chaos, where the wise are fools, the old are young and topsy-turvy is the order of the day. As Saint-Prosper stood watching the versicolored concourse swarm by, a sudden rush of bystanders to view Faith on a golden pedestal, looking more like Coquetry, propelled a dainty figure against the soldier.
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