Monsieur Beaucaire | Page 8

of the late Regent and second in the line of succession to the
throne of France, had rebelled against the authority of Louis XV, who

had commanded him to marry the Princess Henriette, cousin to both of
them. The princess was reported to be openly devoted to the cousin
who refused to accept her hand at the bidding of the king; and, as 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."
"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 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.

Chapter Four
There fell a clear September night, when the moon was radiant over
town and country, over cobbled streets and winding roads. From the
fields the mists rose slowly, and the air was mild and fragrant, while
distances were white and full of