Highness, is a man who has our cause, the cause of our King and of our Faith, as much at heart as I have myself. He would know that on his recommendation I would trust any man absolutely. He was not like to make careless use of such knowledge.’
‘And you are quite satisfied that the worthy Bishop did not act under some dire pressure…?’
‘Quite satisfied, Monseigneur,’ replied the duc firmly. ‘What pressure could there be that would influence a prelate of such high integrity as Monseigneur the Bishop of Brest?’
VII
There was silence for a moment or two, during which the heavy bracket clock over the door struck the first hour after midnight. His Royal Highness looked round at Lady Blakeney, and she gave him a smile and an almost imperceptible nod. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had in the meanwhile quietly slipped away.
‘I understand,’ said His Royal Highness quite gravely, turning back to M. le duc, ‘and I must crave your pardon, sir, for what must have seemed to you an indiscretion. You have given me a very clear exposι of the situation. I confess that until to-night it had seemed to me–and to all your friends, Monsieur, a trifle obscure. In fact, it had been my intention to intercede with you in favour of my young friend Lord Anthony Dewhurst, who of a truth is deeply enamoured of your daughter.’
‘Though your Highness’ wishes are tantamount to a command, yet would I humbly assert that my wishes with regard to my daughter are based upon my loyalty and my duty to my Sovereign King Louis XVII, whom may God guard and protect, and that therefore it is beyond my power now to modify them.’
‘May God trounce you for an obstinate fool,’ murmured His Highness in English, and turning his head away so that the other should not hear him. But aloud and with studied graciousness he said:
‘M. le duc, will you not take a hand at hazard? My luck is turning, and I have faith in yours. We must fleece Blakeney to-night. He has had Satan’s own luck these past few weeks. Such good fortune becomes positively revolting.’
There was no more talk of Mlle. de Kernogan after that. Indeed her father felt that her future had already been discussed far too freely by all these well-wishers who of a truth were not a little indiscreet. He thought that the manners and customs of good society were very peculiar here in this fog-ridden England. What business was it of all these high-born ladies and gentlemen—of His Royal Highness himself for that matter—what plans he had made for Yvonne’s future? Martin-Roget was bourgeois by birth, but he was vastly rich and had promised to pour a coupld of millions into the coffers of the royalist army if Mlle. de Kernogan became his wife. A couple of millions with more to follow, no doubt, and a loyal adherence to the royalist cause was worth these days all the blue blood that flowed in my lord Anthony Dewhurst’s veins.
So at any rate thought M. le duc this night, while His Royal Highness kept him at cards until the late hours of the morning.
Chapter Four - The Father
I
It was close on ten o’clock now in the morning on the following day, and M. le duc de Kernogan was at breakfast in his lodgings in Laura Place, when a courier was announced who was the bearer of a letter for M. le duc.
He thought the man must have been sent by Martin-Roget, who mayhap was sick, seeing that he had not been present at the Assembly Rooms last night, and the duc took the letter and opened it without misgivings. He read the address on the top of the letter: ‘Combwich Hall’—a place unknown to him, and the first words of the letter: ‘Dear father!’ And even then he had no misgivings.
In fact he had to read the letter through three times before the full meaning of its contents had penetrated into his brain. Whilst he read, he sat quite still, and even the hand which held the paper had not the slightest tremor. When he had finished he spoke quite quietly to his valet:
‘Give the courier a
‘And you are quite satisfied that the worthy Bishop did not act under some dire pressure…?’
‘Quite satisfied, Monseigneur,’ replied the duc firmly. ‘What pressure could there be that would influence a prelate of such high integrity as Monseigneur the Bishop of Brest?’
VII
There was silence for a moment or two, during which the heavy bracket clock over the door struck the first hour after midnight. His Royal Highness looked round at Lady Blakeney, and she gave him a smile and an almost imperceptible nod. Sir Andrew Ffoulkes had in the meanwhile quietly slipped away.
‘I understand,’ said His Royal Highness quite gravely, turning back to M. le duc, ‘and I must crave your pardon, sir, for what must have seemed to you an indiscretion. You have given me a very clear exposι of the situation. I confess that until to-night it had seemed to me–and to all your friends, Monsieur, a trifle obscure. In fact, it had been my intention to intercede with you in favour of my young friend Lord Anthony Dewhurst, who of a truth is deeply enamoured of your daughter.’
‘Though your Highness’ wishes are tantamount to a command, yet would I humbly assert that my wishes with regard to my daughter are based upon my loyalty and my duty to my Sovereign King Louis XVII, whom may God guard and protect, and that therefore it is beyond my power now to modify them.’
‘May God trounce you for an obstinate fool,’ murmured His Highness in English, and turning his head away so that the other should not hear him. But aloud and with studied graciousness he said:
‘M. le duc, will you not take a hand at hazard? My luck is turning, and I have faith in yours. We must fleece Blakeney to-night. He has had Satan’s own luck these past few weeks. Such good fortune becomes positively revolting.’
There was no more talk of Mlle. de Kernogan after that. Indeed her father felt that her future had already been discussed far too freely by all these well-wishers who of a truth were not a little indiscreet. He thought that the manners and customs of good society were very peculiar here in this fog-ridden England. What business was it of all these high-born ladies and gentlemen—of His Royal Highness himself for that matter—what plans he had made for Yvonne’s future? Martin-Roget was bourgeois by birth, but he was vastly rich and had promised to pour a coupld of millions into the coffers of the royalist army if Mlle. de Kernogan became his wife. A couple of millions with more to follow, no doubt, and a loyal adherence to the royalist cause was worth these days all the blue blood that flowed in my lord Anthony Dewhurst’s veins.
So at any rate thought M. le duc this night, while His Royal Highness kept him at cards until the late hours of the morning.
Chapter Four - The Father
I
It was close on ten o’clock now in the morning on the following day, and M. le duc de Kernogan was at breakfast in his lodgings in Laura Place, when a courier was announced who was the bearer of a letter for M. le duc.
He thought the man must have been sent by Martin-Roget, who mayhap was sick, seeing that he had not been present at the Assembly Rooms last night, and the duc took the letter and opened it without misgivings. He read the address on the top of the letter: ‘Combwich Hall’—a place unknown to him, and the first words of the letter: ‘Dear father!’ And even then he had no misgivings.
In fact he had to read the letter through three times before the full meaning of its contents had penetrated into his brain. Whilst he read, he sat quite still, and even the hand which held the paper had not the slightest tremor. When he had finished he spoke quite quietly to his valet:
‘Give the courier a
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