The Grey Cloak | Page 9

he lost to you at vingt-et-un."
"Ah!" The Chevalier studied the pattern in the rug. "Eh, well, since I

had no pistoles, I have lost none. I was deep in wine, and so was he;
doubtless he has forgotten. The sight of me will recall his delinquency."
"That is all of the debts and credits, Monsieur."
"The gossip, then, while I trim my nails. Paris can not have stood still
like the sun of Joshua's time, simply because I was not here."
"Beaufort has made up with Madame de Montbazon."
"Even old loves can become new loves. Go on."
Breton recounted the other important court news, while the Chevalier
nodded, or frowned, as the news affected him.
"Mademoiselle Catharine . . ."
"Has that woman been here again?"
"Yes, Monsieur."
"You attended her down the stairs?"
"I did, but she behaved coarsely and threatened not to cease coming
until you had established her in the millinery."
The Chevalier roared with laughter. "And all I did was to kiss the lass
and compliment her cheeks. There's a warning for you, lad."
Breton looked aggrieved. His master's gallantries never ceased to cause
him secret unrest.
"Yesterday your quarterly remittance from Monsieur le Marquis, your
father, arrived."
"Was there a letter?" with subdued eagerness.
"There was nothing but the gold, Monsieur," answered Breton, his eyes
lowered. How many times during the past four years had his master

asked this question, always to receive the same answer?
The Chevalier's shoulders drooped. "Who brought it?"
"Jehan," said the lackey.
"Had he anything to say?"
"Very little. Monsieur le Marquis has closed the chateau in Périgny and
is living at the hôtel in Rochelle."
"He mentions my name?"
"No, Monsieur."
The Chevalier crossed the room and stood by one of the windows. It
was snowing ever so lightly. The snow-clouds, separating at times as
they rushed over the night, discovered the starry bowl of heaven. Some
noble lady's carriage passed surrounded by flaring torches. But the
young man saw none of these things. A sense of incompleteness had
taken hold of him. The heir to a marquisate, the possessor of an income
of forty thousand livres the year, endowed with health and physical
beauty, and yet there was a flaw which marred the whole. It was true
that he was light-hearted, always and ever ready for a rout, whether
with women or with men, whether with wine or with dice; but under all
this brave show there was a canker which ate with subtile slowness, but
surely. To be disillusioned at the age of sixteen by one's own father! To
be given gold and duplicate keys to the wine-cellars! To be eye-witness
of Roman knights over which this father had presided like a Tiberius!
The Duchesse de Montbazon had been in her youth a fancy of the
marquis, his father. Was it not a fine stroke of irony to decide that this
son of his should marry the obscure daughter of madame?--the
daughter about whom very few had ever heard? Without the Chevalier's
sanction, miniatures had been exchanged. When the marquis presented
him with that of Mademoiselle de Montbazon, together with his desires,
he had ground the one under foot without glancing at it, and had
laughed at the other as preposterous. Since that night the marquis had

ceased to recall his name. The Chevalier's mother had died at his birth;
thus, he knew neither maternal nor paternal love; and a man must love
something which is common with his blood. Even now he would have
gone half-way, had his father's love come to meet him. But no;
Monsieur le Marquis loved only his famous wines, his stories, and his
souvenirs. Bah! this daughter had been easily consoled. The Comte de
Brissac was fully sixty. The Chevalier squared his shoulders and
shifted his baldric.
With forced gaiety he turned to his lackey. "Lad, let us love only
ourselves. Self-love is always true to us. We will spend our gold and
play the butterfly while the summer lasts. It will be cold soon, and
then . . . pouf! To-morrow you will take the gold and balance my
accounts."
"Yes, Monsieur. Will Monsieur permit a familiarity by recalling a
forbidden subject?"
"Well?"
"Monsieur le Comte de Brissac died last night," solemnly.
"What! of old age?" ironically.
"Of steel. A gallant was entering by a window, presumably to entertain
madame, who is said to be young and as beautiful as her mother was.
Monsieur le Comte appeared upon the scene; but his guard was weak.
He was run through the neck. The gallant wore a mask. That is all I
know of the scandal."
"Happy the star which guided me from the pitfall of wedded life! What
an escape! I must inform Monsieur le Marquis. He will certainly relish
this bit