“Then, my dear Fanny, Versailles,” he said.

Lady Fanny nodded.

“It’s very well. You’ll make some stir with her, Justin.”

“It is my intention,” he said. “Send out your cards, my dear.”

“Expense?” She cocked her head to one side.

“You will not consider it. I think we will have the young Condé and De Penthičvre. The Duc de Richelieu also.”

“I leave them to you. There must be Madame du Deffand, of course, and the Duchesse de la Roque.” Lady Fanny half-closed her eyes. “My dearest Justin, there is no one who is anyone who will not come to the ball, I pledge you my word! But la, what a work I have before me! They’ll come out of curiosity, depend upon it!” She rustled to the door. “The child’s toilettes, Justin?”

“I never quarrel with your taste, Fanny.”

“How droll ’twill be! ’Tis as though I had a daughter, though thank heaven I have not! She’s to be richly clad?”

“As befits my ward, Fanny, but ŕ la jeune fille.”

“Oh, never fear! You’ll not complain. Dear me, I have not been so excited since my girlhood, when you took me to Versailles, Justin. The whole house must be thrown open. I vow some of the rooms are positively thick with dust. ’Twill need an army to set all in order. The Ball but starts my activities, I assure you.” She laughed delightedly. “We will have soirées, and card-parties, a rout, maybe, and—oh, we shall make some stir!” She hurried away, full of business-like determination.

His Grace sat down to write a letter to Hugh Davenant.

From then onward the Hôtel Avon was plunged into bustling activity. Milliners and mantua-makers came and went, dancing masters and coiffeurs; and the servants invaded every shut room, and threw it open, and swept and garnished it. His Grace was hardly ever at home. He was at pains to show himself abroad, circulating the news of his return. Rupert he set to promote an ever-ready curiosity, so my lord as soon as he was well enough, sallied forth to the gaming houses, and to the abodes of his cronies, and characteristically spread the tale of his brother’s latest whim. Léonie’s beauty lost nothing in his description of it; he hinted at dark mystery, and assured all and sundry that Avon counted on the presence of the Prince de Condé at his ball, and that also of M. de Richelieu. Paris began to hum, and Fanny sat in her boudoir with notes of acceptance scattered about her.

“Oh, we shall do famously!” she cried. “Said I not all Paris should come?”

But Léonie slipped away, escaping from dancing-masters and dressmakers alike, and stole into the library where the Duke was usually to be found. She stood in the doorway regarding him wistfully. He looked up, laid down his quill, and stretched out a hand to her.

“Well, ma fille?”

She ran to him, and sank on to her knees beside his chair.

“Monseigneur, it frightens me.”

He stroked her bright curls caressingly.

“What frightens you, child?”

She made a comprehensive gesture.

“This—all of it! There are so many grand people coming, and everyone is so busy. I myself have no time to talk to you, Monseigneur.”

“You do not like it, child?”

She wrinkled her nose.

“Ah, quant ŕ ça——! It excites me, Monseigneur, and—and yes, I like it very well. But it is as it was at Versailles. You remember I lost you. It was so big and brilliant.”

“Child——” He looked down into her eyes. “I am always here.” He smiled a little. “I think, infant, it is I shall be in danger of losing you when you are launched into the world. You will no longer wish to sit with me then.”

She shook her head vehemently.

“Always, always! Voyons, Monseigneur, I am going round and round in all this gaiety that comes to me, and for a little while I like it. But always I want to run away to you. Then I am safe, and—and things do not bewilder me. You see?”

“Perfectly,” said his Grace. “I shall not fail you, infant.”

“No, Monseigneur.” She nestled her hand in his, and gave a tiny sigh. “Why do you do all this for me?”

“I have many reasons, infant. You will not bother your head with them.”

“No, Monseigneur,” she said again, obediently. “It is very far away now, that time with Jean and Charlotte.”

“I desire you will forget it, ma mie. It was an evil dream no more.”

“Bien, Monseigneur.” She rested her head against his arm, and stayed so a long time.

That very evening Davenant arrived, and was told that the Duke was at dinner. He gave his greatcoat and hat to a lackey, and waving the man aside went alone to the dining-room, whence a babel of talk came.

The long room was lit by candles that stood in gold clusters on the table. Silver winked, and cut glass, and the mellow light was thrown over all. At the foot of the table my Lady Fanny sat, with Marling on her right, hot in argument with Rupert, opposite. Beside Marling was Léonie, dressed in dull yellow gold, and old lace. She was saying something to his Grace, at the head of the table, as Davenant came in, but she looked up at the sound of the opening door and suddenly clapped her hands.

“Tiens, it is M. Davenant! He is come, then! See, Monseigneur!”

His Grace rose, and put down his napkin.

“My dear Hugh! You come most opportunely. Jacques, lay for monsieur.”

Davenant clasped his hand a moment, nodding to Rupert, and to Marling.

“I could not resist your invitation—or was it a summons?” he said. He bowed low to Fanny. “My lady?”

She gave him her hand, in high good-humour.

“I declare I am prodigious glad to see you, Hugh! I vow ’tis an age since I met you last!”

“As beautiful as ever,” he said, kissing her hand. But his eyes were on Léonie.

“Oh!” Lady Fanny pouted. “I am put in the shade, Hugh, yes, positively I am put in the shade—by this chit! It is so mortifying!” She smiled at Léonie, and beckoned.

Léonie came forward in her best manner, and swept a curtsy. A wicked little smile hovered about her mouth; she fixed Davenant with wide, innocent eyes.

“Is it possible?” he said, and bent over her fingers.

“You are dazzled, in fact?” His Grace came to stand beside his ward.

“Completely! I would not have believed it could be! You are to be congratulated, Alastair.”

“Why, so I think,” said the Duke.

Léonie made a quaint little bow.

“Sometimes, m’sieur, I am still Léon.”

“Ay, that is Léon,” Hugh smiled. “Do you like being Léonie?”

“At first it did not please me at all,” she answered. “But now I think it is very agreeable. You have pretty things if you are a girl, and go to balls. There is to be a ball here next week, m’sieur.”

“So I hear,” he said. “Who comes to it?”

They sat down again at the table, Davenant opposite Léonie. It was Fanny who answered.

“Everyone, Hugh, I give you my word! ’Pon rep, I have worked over this ball!”

“Ay, and made the house a veritable wasps’ nest,” grumbled Rupert. “How are you, Hugh?”

“The same as ever, Rupert. And you?”

“Well enough,” Rupert said. “We’re all of us reformed, as you see. Never was there such a united family, and all of us so amiable one to the other—God knows how long ’twill last!”

Davenant laughed across the table at Marling.

“I learn that I am to bear you company in this disreputable establishment, Marling!”

“We are invited to supply a note of sobriety,” nodded Marling. “It was Léonie’s notion. How did you leave your brother?”

“As long as you did leave him, Hugh, I’m satisfied,” grimaced Rupert.

“Ah yes!” said his Grace. “The deplorable Frederick! How does he?”

“Oh, there never was a man so tedious as Colehatch!” cried my lady. “Only fancy, Hugh, he loved me once! The great Lord Colehatch. La! I should be honoured!”

“He is just as deplorable as ever, I fear,” Hugh replied. “He was not pleased to hear that I intended to visit this house again.”

“Lord, did he want you, Fan?” exclaimed Rupert. “Well, I always knew the man was a fool.”

“I thank you, my lord!” Davenant made him a mock bow. “You are all of you vastly complimentary towards my respected brother.”

“Oh, and to me!” said my lady. “Horrid boy! Do you remember that Colehatch wanted me, Justin?”

“My memory fails me when I try to disentangle your suitors, my dear. Was he the one who demanded you of me with a pistol at my head, as it were? No, I believe that was Fonteroy. Colehatch, I think, wrote me a correct application for your hand which I still cherish. He said that he was willing to overlook such trifling faults in you, my dear, as your levity and your extravagance.”

“Fanny, I make you my apologies on his behalf!” laughed Hugh.

Marling helped himself to a peach.

“What an ardent lover!” he remarked. “I hope I did not say that I would overlook your faults?”

“Dearest Edward, you said that you adored me from my heels to my topmost curl!” sighed her ladyship. “Lud, what days they were! Cumming—dear soul—fought John Drew because he disparaged my eyebrows, and Vane—do you remember Vane, Justin?—wanted to fly with me!”

Léonie was greatly interested.

“And did you?” she inquired.

“La, child, what will you ask next? He had not a penny, poor darling, and was mad into the bargain.”

“I should like people to fight over me,” Léonie said. “With swords.”

Davenant was amused.

“Would you, Léon—Léonie!”

“But yes, m’sieur! It would be so exciting. Did you see them fight, madame?”

“Good gracious, no, child! Of course I did not. One never does.”

“Oh!” Léonie was disappointed. “I thought you watched.”

Davenant looked at the Duke.

“The lady would appear to have a taste for bloodshed,” he remarked.

“A veritable passion for it, my dear. Nothing pleases her more.”

“You are not to encourage her, Justin!” said my lady. “I vow it’s scandalous!”

Léonie twinkled merrily.

“There is one thing I made Monseigneur teach me that is very bloodthirsty,” she said. “You do not know!”

“What is it, puss?”

“Aha, I will not tell!” She shook her head wisely. “You would say it is unladylike.”

“Oh, Justin, what have you been at? Some hoydenish trick it is, I dare swear!”

“Tell us!” said Marling. “You’ve whetted our curiosity, child, and soon we shall begin to guess.”

“Ecod, do you mean——” began Rupert.

Léonie waved agitated hands.

“No, no, imbécile! Tais toi!” She pursed her mouth primly. “M. Marling would be shocked, and madame would say it is not at all respectable. Monseigneur, he is not to tell!”

“One would infer that it was some disgraceful secret,” said his Grace. “I believe I have several times requested you not to call Rupert ‘imbécile’, infant.”

“But Monseigneur, he is an imbécile!” she protested. “You know he is!”

“Undoubtedly, ma fille, but I do not tell the whole world so.”

“Then I do not know what I am to call him,” said Léonie. “He calls me spitfire, Monseigneur, and wild-cat.”

“And so she is, by Gad!” exclaimed his lordship.

“I am not, Rupert. I am a lady. Monseigneur says so.”

“A manifestly false assertion,” said his Grace. “But I cannot remember ever having said anything of the kind, infant.”

She peeped naughtily up at him, through her lashes. It was one of her most captivating little tricks.

“But, Monseigneur, you said only a minute ago that your memory is not at all good.”

There was a shout of laughter; Avon’s own eyes were alight with it. He picked up his fan and dealt Léonie a rap across the knuckles. She chuckled, and turned jubilantly to the others.

“Voyons, I have made you all laugh!” she said. “And I meant to make you laugh! I am a wit, enfin!”

Davenant was looking at Avon, dawning wonder on his face, for Avon’s eyes rested on his ward with such tender amusement in them that Davenant could hardly believe it was the Duke that he looked on.

“Oh lud, what a child it is!” said my lady, dabbing at her eyes. “I vow I would never have dared speak so to Justin at your age!”

“Nor I!” said Rupert. “But there’s nothing she won’t dare, damme, there’s not!” He turned to Davenant. “Never was there such a girl, Hugh! Do you know she’s even been abducted?”

“Abducted?” Davenant looked round, half-incredulous. “What’s this?”