M. Beaucaire stepped close to her. Her pale face twitched.

"Look!"he said.

"Oh, oh!"she whispered with a dry throat, and fell back in the carriage.

"Is it so?"cried the Duke.

"I do not know.—I—cannot tell."

"One moment more. I begged these gentlemen to allow me to wipe out the insult I had unhappily offered to Bath, but particularly to you. They agreed not to forestall me or to interfere. I left Sir John Wimpledon's early, and arranged to give the sorry rascal a lashing under your own eyes, a satisfaction due the lady into whose presence he had dared to force himself."

"'Noblesse oblige'?"said M. Beaucaire in a tone of gentle inquiry.

"And now, madam,"said the Duke,"I will detain you not one second longer. I plead the good purpose of my intentions, begging you to believe that the desire to avenge a hateful outrage, next to the wish to serve you, forms the dearest motive in the heart of Winterset."

"Bravo!"cried Beaucaire softly.

Lady Mary leaned toward him, a thriving terror in her eyes."It is false?"she faltered.

"Monsieur should not have been born so high. He could have made little book'."

"You mean it is false?"she cried breathlessly.

"'Od's blood, is she not convinced?"broke out Mr. Bantison."Fellow, were you not the ambassador's barber?"

"It is all false?"she whispered.

"The mos'fine art, mademoiselle. How long you think it take M. de Winterset to learn that speech after he write it out? It is a mix of what is true and the mos'chaste art. Monsieur has become a man of letters. Perhaps he may enjoy that more than the wars. Ha, ha!"

Mr. Bantison burst into a roar of laughter."Do French gentlemen fight lackeys? Ho, ho, ho! A pretty country! We English do as was done to-night, have our servants beat them."

"And attend ourselves,"added M. Beaucaire, looking at the Duke,"somewhat in the background? But, pardon,"he mocked,"that remind'me. Francois, return to Mr. Bantison and these gentlemen their weapons."

"Will you answer a question?"said Molyneux mildly.

"Oh, with pleasure, monsieur."

"We re you ever a barber?"

"No, monsieur,"laughed the young man.

"Pah!"exclaimed Bantison."Let me question him. Now, fellow, a confession may save you from jail. Do you deny you are Beaucaire?"

"Deny to a such judge?"

"Ha!"said Bantison."What more do you want, Molyneux? Fellow, do you deny that you came to London in the ambassador's suite?"

"No, I do not deny."

"He admits it! Didn't you come as his barber?"

"Yes, my frien', as his barber."Lady Mary cried out faintly, and, shuddering, put both hands over her eyes.

"I'm sorry,"said Molyneux."You fight like a gentleman."

"I thank you, monsieur."

"You called yourself Beaucaire?"

"Yes, monsieur."He was swaying to and fro; his servants ran to support him.

"I wish—"continued Molyneux, hesitating."Evil take me!—but I'm sorry you're hurt."

"Assist Sir Hugh into my carriage,"said Lady Mary.

"Farewell, mademoiselle!"M. Beaucaire's voice was very faint. His eyes were fixed upon her face. She did not look toward him.

They were propping Sir Hugh on the cushions. The Duke rode up close to Beaucaire, but Francois seized his bridle fiercely, and forced the horse back on its haunches.

"The man's servants worship him,"said Molyneux.

"Curse your insolence!"exclaimed the Duke."How much am I to bear from this varlet and his varlets? Beaucaire, if you have not left Bath by to-morrow noon, you will be clapped into jail, and the lashing you escaped to-night shall be given you thrice tenfold!"

"I shall be-in the—Assemily—Room'at nine—o'clock, one week —from—to-night,"answered the young man, smiling jauntily, though his lips were colorless. The words cost him nearly all his breath and strength."You mus'keep—in the—backgroun', monsieur. Ha, ha!"The door of the coach closed with a slam.

"Mademoiselle—fare—well!"

"Drive on!"said Lady Mary.

M. Beaucaire followed the carriage with his eyes. As the noise of the wheels and the hoof-beats of the accompanying cavalcade grew fainter in the distance, the handkerchief he had held against his side dropped into the white dust, a heavy red splotch.

"Only—roses,"he gasped, and fell back in the arms of his servants.