Monsieur Beaucaire | Page 7

royal loveliness was given to view for a moment in that glowing frame.
The crowd sent up a hearty English cheer for the Beauty of Bath.
The gentleman smiled upon them delightedly. "What enchanting
peopie!" 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.
"No, no!" he cried earnestly. "Behol' a poor Frenchman whom
emperors should envy." Then reverently and with the pride of his
gallant office vibrant in every line of his slight figure, invested in white
satin and very grand, as he had prophesied, M. le Duc de Chateaurien
handed Lady Mary Carlisle down the steps, an achievement which had
figured in the ambitions of seven other gentlemen during the evening.
"Am I to be lef'in such onhappiness?" he said in a low voice. "That rose
I have beg' for so long - "
"Never!" said Lady Mary.
"Ah, I do not deserve it, I know so well! But - "
"Never!"
"It is the greatness of my onworthiness that alone can claim your
charity; let your kin' heart give this little red rose, this great alms, to the
poor beggar."

"Never!"
She was seated in the chair. "Ah, give the rose," he whispered. 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. "Monsieur,
was it not enough honor for you to han' out madame, the aunt of Lady
Mary? Lady Rellerton retain much trace of beauty. 'Tis strange you did
not appear more happy."
"The rose is of an unlucky color, I think," observed the Duke.
"The color of a blush, my brother."
"Unlucky, I still maintain," said the other calmly.
"The color of the veins of a Frenchman. Ha, ha!" cried the young man.
"What price would be too high? A rose is a rose! A good-night, my
brother, a good-night. I wish you dreams of roses, red roses, only
beautiful red, red roses!"
"Stay! Did you see the look she gave these street folk when they
shouted for her? And how are you higher than they, when she knows?
As high as yonder horse-boy!"
"Red roses, my brother, only roses. I wish you dreams of red, red
roses!"

Chapter Three
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. In the company of gentlemen his ease was slightly tinged
with graciousness (his single equal in Bath being his Grace of
Winterset); but it was remarked that when he bowed over a lady's hand,
his air bespoke only a gay and tender reverence.
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. Gayly admitting that he had been born
with no spirit of adventure in him, he was sure, he declared, that he
failed of much happiness by his lack of taste in such matters.
But he was not long wanting the occasion to prove his taste in the
matter of handling a weapon. A certain led-captain, Rohrer by name,
notorious, amongst other things, for bearing a dexterous and
bloodthirsty blade, came to Bath post-haste, one night, and jostled
heartily against him, in the pump-room on the following morning. M.
de Chauteaurien bowed, and turned aside without offense, continuing a
conversation with some gentlemen near by. Captain Rohrer jostled
against him a second time. M. de Chateaurien looked him in the eye,
and apologized pleasantly for being so much in the way. Thereupon
Rohrer procured an introduction to him, and made some observations
derogatory to the valor and virtue of the French. There was current a
curious piece of gossip of the French court: a prince of the blood royal,
grandson