The Launching of Roger Brook

"Breuc!" exclaimed the Count. "Mon dieu! I thought I knew his face." Then he launched out at Roger: "You miserable upstart! How in the name of perdition did you get here?"

"Monsieur!" said the Vicomte, in a tone of protest.

Roger knew that his whole position—his very life, now that Athenais loved him—hung upon his keeping his temper and maintaining an outward air of servility. Bowing before the rising storm he replied in a low voice: "Monsieur le Comte, as M. de la Tour d'Auvergne has told you, Monseigneur your father has done me the honour to make me his secretary. Judging by the favour he has shown me he finds my services of some small value. I trust you will allow me the privilege of also serving you."

"Serve me! To hell with you!" cried the young Count. "I'd not have you as a lackey! How dare you show your face again in the house of a de Rochambeau!" And he raised a riding-switch that he was carrying to strike at Roger.

"Monsieur!" repeated the Vicomte sharply, and he seized Count Lucien's wrist. " Tis not for me, a guest in your father's house, to question your manners to his servants. But Monsieur Breuc has behaved towards me with every courtesy, and I will not allow you to strike him in my presence unless you can first give some adequate reason for so doing."

"The fellow is a vagabond," blustered Count Lucien. "He dared to raise his eyes to Mademoiselle, my sister, and I had him thrown down the steps of our Hotel in Rennes for his impudence."

M. le Tour d'Auvergne looked sternly at Roger. "Is this truel"

Roger returned the look squarely. "Monsieur le Vicomte, three years ago, Mademoiselle took pity upon me, and saved me when I was being pursued by a mob for a murder that I had not committed. I naturally conceived a sentiment of deep but most respectful gratitude towards her. Some time later I called at her home and asked to see her, in order that I might express my thanks. Count Lucien met me at the door and, without inquiring the purpose of my visit, took it upon himself to have me thrown out by his servants."

The Vicomte released Count Lucien's wrist, and said: "It seems then that you have but imagined an insult to your sister, Count; and, since it appears that Monsieur Breuc has served your father well, I can scarce think that he would thank you for driving away a useful servant. Be advised by me; forget this baseless prejudice and accept M. Breuc's offer to be of service to you."

The young de Rochambeau shrugged his shoulders. "I have no prejudices where servants are concerned. 'Twas the airs the fellow gave himself when we first met that riled me. And look at him now, dressed up to kill, in clothes far beyond his station."

" 'Twas Monseigneur's own desire that I should do credit to his service," said Roger quietly.

"Then 'tis none of my affair," admitted Count Lucien, grudgingly. "And I'll say no more, provided you keep your place. I am just come from Brienne, where I have completed my three years at the Military Academy, and I have now to spend a year at the finishing school in Paris. My expenses will be much greater here and from time to time I shall require funds. Are you in a position to furnish me with them?"

Roger bowed. "Monseigneur will be returning from Versailles in the course of a day or two. No doubt you will be seeing him and will arrange this matter personally. In the meantime I shall be happy to advance you any sum in reason that you may require."

"A hundred louis will do to go on with."

Crossing the room to an iron-bound chest, Roger unlocked it and counted out the money. When he had done M. de la Tour d'Auvergne said to him: "Monsieur Breuc, I should like to discuss further with you the question of my lodgings. If you are at liberty this evening about six o'clock I should be happy if you will take a bottle of wine with me at La Belle Etoile hard by here in the Rue de I'Arbre Sec."

"Monsieur le Vicomte, I should count it an honour," Roger replied, and his two visitors left him, M. de la Tour d'Auvergne with a smile and Count Lucien with a crestfallen look at the lesson in good manners he had just received from a noble who was not only older but also had more quarterings than himself.

Roger felt that he had been extremely fortunate in that M. de la Tour d'Auvergne had chanced to be present on Count Lucien's arrival in Paris, otherwise an ugly scene might have resulted in his dismissal; but there now seemed little danger of that, and at the Belle Etoile that evening he thanked the Vicomte warmly for his inter­vention.

The Vicomte declared that what Count Lucien needed was for somebody to call him out and teach him manners by a well-directed sword thrust.

"I would that I might be the one to give it him," Roger sighed, "but my position prohibits all thought of such a pleasure." "Are you a swordsman, then?"

"Several masters have been good enough to say that I am not without skill, and I have fought once, successfully, in earnest."

"Indeed!" The Vicomte raised an eyebrow. " 'Tis unusual to come upon a secretary who can handle a blade."

"I will be honest with you, Monsieur, since I am sure you will not betray my confidence. My story is too long to weary you with in detail, but I am of gentle birth and was brought up to bear arms."

The Vicomte gave him a shrewd look. "Then if you were not brought up to think with the humility of a servant, it may be that there was, after all, something in Count Lucien's allegation, that your sentiments for Mademoiselle Athehais were not inspired alone by gratitude."

"Again I will be honest with you," Roger smiled. "I fell in love with Mademoiselle Athenais the first moment I set eyes on her. But, of course, I realise that there can be no question of my marrying her, and, since she must marry into a great family I could not wish her better fortune than to find happiness with yourself."

"I thank you, Chevalier, and believe me, loving her as I do, I can well understand your own feelings. You have my deepest sympathy in that your lot denies you the right to become my rival. But, talking of sword-play, I am not without some little skill myself, and, lest when I go to Court I find some quarrel forced upon me, I am anxious to keep my wrist supple. What say you to some practice-bouts?"

"Nothing would please me better; there is a fencing-room behind the stables at the Hotel."

"We'll meet there then. And now a matter on which I am anxious to consult you. Next week Mademoiselle is to make her appearance at Court, and M. de Rochambeau is to present me to His Majesty. I have a suit or two which will serve for the moment, but I am anxious to possess a better wardrobe. Your taste is admirable, and I would be most grateful for your help in its selection."

"I thank you for the compliment, and 'twould be a pleasure," Roger replied. Then he added thoughtfully. "Since you have done me the honour to consult me, may I say that I think you would be ill-advised to enter into competition with the leading exquisites. You have a personality that few of them possess and would, I believe, make a greater mark if you set a style yourself by keeping to garments with little ornamentation, but of rich material and even, perhaps, of rather sombre colours so that they will stand out in contrast to the sunset hues worn by the majority of the courtiers."

The Vicomte laughed. "How right I was to consult you, mon cher Chevalier. 'Tis a great idea and one that fits well with my modest income, for my purse is by no means as well lined as I would wish."

In the following week Roger had another secret meeting with Athenais. The pent-up passion of two months having been partially assuaged at their first meeting, they embraced with no less delight but found a little more time to talk coherently. M. de la Tour d'Auvergne had told her of the help that Roger was giving him in selecting his new clothes and she thanked him for it, saying that she thought it mighty generous in him to behave so to a potential rival.

"My angel," he smiled, caressing her cheek, "If I counted him a rival for your love I think I'd kill him, but for your hand 'tis different. He swears a great devotion to you, I know him to be a true gentleman, and I like him greatly. Tell me, what think you of him yourself?"

"I like him, too," she replied, after a moment. "My love is yours, and no man shall rob you of it. But, since marry I must, I would prefer M. de la Tour d'Auvergne to someone older. The decision lies, though, with my father, and he may not consider that M. le Vicomte is rich enough for me."

"When his father dies he will come into a good estate," hazarded Roger.

She shook her head. "Even then he will have no great fortune. His family have shut themselves away on their lands for so long that they hold no great offices of state, and have none of the fat pensions which fall to those who spend their lives flattering the Sovereigns."

" 'Twould be hard on him if he failed in his suit for no other reason than that he is not a millionaire."

"I do not say that my father will reject him; only that his chances would be better had he the income of a man like M. de Caylus."

"That loathsome half-breed!" Roger exclaimed. "Surely your father would never think of giving you to him?"

"Nay, God forbid! I think I'd kill myself rather than be led to the altar by such a man. But be not alarmed. I thought of him only as the richest man of title that I know. There were, though, several good matches proposed for me last winter. The Due de Vauguyon wants me for his eldest son, and the Comte de Porcin, who is passing rich, would have me replace his Countess who died two years ago. I doubt not, too, that on my return to Versailles overtures from numerous other quarters will be made to my father. Should one be forthcoming where the suitor has lineage equal to M. de la Tour d'Auvergne with greater wealth attached, the poor Vicomte will have to seek a bride else­where."

Roger made a wry grimace. "I am in despair that you should be leaving Paris so soon. What hopes are there of my seeing you at such times as I bring papers out to Versailles for M. le Marquis?"

"None, I fear." Athenais sought to soften the blow by speaking very gently. "Madame Marie-Ange will always be with me when I am in our apartments, and when out of them I shall be in the company of other ladies. But take heart, dear love. I shall return to Paris frequently for a night or more, to order new clothes and have them fitted. My father's attendance on the Queen will have no relation to my own and you may be sure that I shall arrange matters so that my visits here will be, as far as possible, during his absence. Each time I come to Paris we will meet in this room at six of the clock and snatch an hour of bliss together."

Greatly consoled, Roger took her in his arms and kissed her fondly. Neither of them had the faintest doubt of the other's eagerness for another meeting at the earliest possible opportunity. She vowed that the balls and parties at Versailles would be a weariness without him, and he that he would be counting the moments until he could breathe the perfume of her hair again. Once more, with a distress that almost amounted to physical pain, they clung to one another for the last few precious seconds, until it became imperative that she should go down to dinner and, half bemused by the heady wine of her caresses, Roger stumbled out of the window.

M. de Rochambeau had, on this occasion, remained longer than usual at Versailles; but when he returned on the 19th of January he was in as good a humour as his cold nature would ever allow him to demonstrate.

By the nth, M. de Vergennes, worn out with battling against intrigue, and grief for the wife that he had loved so dearly, had become so ill that he could no longer cope with the onerous duties of his post as Foreign Minister. The King, loath to dispense altogether with the services of this wise and upright adviser, had asked him to carry on, but relieved him of the duty of entertaining the Ambassadors to dinner every Tuesday, and delegated this duty to the Baron de Breteuil.

Louis de Breteuil was one of M. de Rochambeau's intimates and, with him, believed that France's best hope of recovery lay in expansion; so his appointment as official host to the Corps Diplomatique Was a great triumph for French Imperialism.

By the 25th of January, M. de Vergennes's health had become so precarious that the King asked de Breteuil to act for him at the sessions of the Royal Council; and the courtiers, with their noses to every wind that blew, were laying odds that he would be the next Foreign Minister.

Had Roger been of their company he might have made a fine haul by taking such bets, since he knew that de Breteuil did not desire the post, but preferred to continue as Minister for Paris and Keeper of the Seals.

Towards the end of the month there were a number of high-power conferences held in the Marquis's sanctum at the H6tel de Rochambeau.

De Breteuil, De Castries, De Polignac, De Segur, and the Marquis d'Adhemar, who was said to be the Duchess de Polignac's lover, and was shortly leaving to take up a new appointment as Ambassador to the Court of St. James, Were all present. After much deliberation it was decided, on the Marquis's recommendation, that the Comte de Montmorin should be recommended to the King to succeed M. de Vergennes. M. de Montmorin had served as Ambassador to Spain and later held the office of Royal Governor of Brittany, and it was in the latter capacity that the Marquis had come to know him as an able but pliant man who, lacking powerful family connections, had the wisdom to accept advice from those whose good will could maintain him in office. On the 13th of February, M. de Vergennes, the friend of all peaceful policies, died; on the 14th the King nominated M. de Montmorin to succeed him.

The change meant nothing to the public; from the beginning of the year its whole interest had been centred on the rumour that the King intended to call an Assembly of Notables and hand over to them the direction of the ship of state. After many postponements the vacillating monarch at last brought himself to convene the Assembly on the 22nd of February, but the manner in which he addressed it, when assembled, was a grievous disappointment to the nation. Instead of asking this representative body to consider the desperate state of the country and advise him as to what measures could be taken for its salvation, he simply indicated that his Comptroller-General of Finance had already devised the measures and that their province was to place their Weight behind them by an unanimous vote of confidence in the Minister.

M. de Calonne then made a most brilliant hour and a quarter's speech; but, to the amazement of everyone who listened to him, he performed a complete volte-face from every principle that he had followed throughout his three years of office. He now proposed, almost in their entirety, the reforms that Turgot had advocated a decade earlier. His revolutionary programme included: The removal of internal customs barriers; the erection of provincial, district and parochial Assemblies; that the hated forced labour of the corvées should be commuted for a monetary payment; that a remission of ten millions should be made in the Gabelle, and that this loss of income from salt be recovered by a stamp tax on paper; that all producers of grain should be given a free hand to market it where they would without hindrance; that the nobility and clergy should no longer be exempt from taxation, and that a Land Tax should be instituted to which all property owners, irrespective of class, would be subject.

The next day, the better to deliberate on these matters, the Assembly was divided into seven committees, each of twenty-two members and each having a Prince of the Blood for its chairman. So urgent were the passage of these reforms now considered that all the committees sat every day, except Sundays; but it soon became apparent that opposition to the Royal will was rising in every quarter.

Both the clergy and nobles showed extreme resentment at the proposal to tax their lands, and the Archbishop of Narbonne led a heated attack upon the measure. The representatives of the ancient provincial Parliaments fiercely opposed the proposals for establishing provincial Assemblies, as they feared that these would usurp their own functions. The trade guilds and entire commercial community of the country raised an outcry about the proposed tax on paper, saying that it would bring ruin to their business. In fact, every class represented in the Assembly had some reason to obstruct the new programme and all united in demanding that a full account should be given of how the national revenues were expended before further taxation was imposed.

M. de Calonne was compelled to admit that the deficit for the current year amounted to one hundred and thirteen millions, but he would give no details. The Princes of the Blood were forced to represent the rebellious attitude of their committees to the King, and one of them, the Prince de Conti, was so impressed by their arguments that he refused to continue his work until forced to do so by a direct order from the Monarch. Another of them, M. de Due de Orleans, the most bitter enemy of the Court, skilfully slid out of his chairmanship on the plea that he could not be expected to give an impartial judgment on the reduction of the Gabelle as it would reduce his income by £30,000 a year. The King's brothers, M. le Comte de Provence and M. le Comte d'Artois, despite their normal preoccupations, the one with learning, and the other with women, worked hard with their committees. Both offered to reduce the cost of their stables by half a million francs a year, but this belated gesture was almost overlooked in the general alarm at the appalling state into which the finances had fallen.

In mid-March the Comte de Mirabeau published a broadside openly attacking the administration and, on the 20th a Lettre de Cachet was issued for his arrest; but he was warned of it and succeeded in escaping to England. By early April the popular fury against M. de Calonne had risen to such a height that the King could no longer support him and, on the 9th, he was dismissed from office. On the 19th, M. Necker, the ex-Finance Minister, issued a pamphlet, stigmatising M. de Calonne for his three years of mismanagement, and the King ordered the Swiss banker into exile. On the 25th of May the King at last dissolved the Assembly of Notables, which, instead of supporting the Royal Authority, had gone against it on every measure and given vent to the discontent of the whole nation. He was said to have sworn that during his lifetime he would never call another, and he now placed his affairs in the hands of his new Minister, Lomenie de Brienne, the Archbishop of Toulouse.

In the meantime, M. de Rochambeau continued to occupy himself with affairs in the United Provinces. The Stadtholder's situation was an extremely difficult one, as the Dutch possessed a very liberal Constitution which rendered him little more than hereditary Chief Magistrate. On the advice of the British Minister, Sir James Harris, he had now formed a bodyguard for his own protection, but he controlled so few troops that it was quite impossible for him to enforce his authority. On the other hand, the States-General were busy secretly recruiting a free-corps throughout the whole country for the maintenance of their independence.

The three Ambassadors, Gortz, Harris and de Rayneval continued their mediation and appeared to be holding the two parties back from an open clash; but all through the spring and early summer the United Provinces remained a powder barrel which, if it went off, was liable to ignite half Europe.

Roger followed every move with the keenest interest but, puzzle his wits as he would, he could still not make out what deep game M. de Rochambeau was playing. It seemed to him beyond belief that the Marquis could be seeking to bring about a war while the finances of France were in such a desperate situation, yet he knew that from the beginning of the year many warlike preparations had been undertaken.

The British Control Commission having evacuated Dunkirk, on the ratification of the Treaty of Versailles, the French had at once begun to refortify the port, and they were now committed to a programme of works there almost as formidable as that for Cherbourg. It had also been decided that a camp of eighty thousand troops should be assembled in the summer for "manoeuvres" at Givet, in Flanders. The Navy too, was gradually being got into a state of readiness and the Marshal de Castries had mentioned to the Marquis in Roger's hearing that he had sixty-four ships-of-the-line which could now be made ready for action at short notice.

Having become the repository of such secrets, Roger felt it his duty to pass them on to Mr. Gilbert Maxwell and from early in 1787 a regular correspondence ensued. The information that he sent would actually have been of considerably greater value if he had given with it the attitude and opinions on foreign policy of the many important people with whom he now came in contact; but, not being aware of that, he confined his reports to bare statements of fact which he considered had military significance.

Mr. Maxwell's replies were little more than appreciative acknow­ledgements, although he occasionally asked in guarded terms if Roger could give him other specific pieces of information. Once he suggested that if Roger could, without endangering his position, get in touch with Mr. Daniel Hailes, the Charge d'Affaires at the British Embassy in Paris, this might prove useful; and added that Mr. Hailes had been instructed to supply him with funds if he should be in need of them.

Roger still had qualms enough about betraying his employer and, while he was prepared to do so for his country's sake, the idea of selling information for money was highly repulsive to him. So he replied briefly that he was not in need of funds and that he thought it would be most ill-advised for him to have any dealings with the British Embassy.

From Athenais's first appearance at Versailles, she became unavoid­ably involved in the series of endless entertainments that still occupied most of the energies of the feckless Court, but she managed to get back to Paris for a night once every ten days or so. Now and then, to Roger's fury, his work prevented him from taking advantage of her presence to keep their tryst, but the very difficulties that beset their coming together, while still preserving their secret, made them all the more eager for these stolen meetings.

Most of the hours they spent in the old playroom were devoted to kisses, sighs, embraces and mutual vows of devotion, but occasionally they found time to talk for a little of her doings at Versailles. In mid-May she told him that she had now become quite intimate with the Royal circle as she had recently seen them with less formality.

With the coming of summer the Queen had reopened her Swiss Chalet dairy farm beside the lake near the Petit Trianon. Once or twice a week the Royal family went out there for a picnic meat, with a favoured few of whom Athenais was now one. They all wore simple clothes, played at milking the cows, made butter, and cooked then-own supper.

Marie-Antoinette loved to throw off the dignity of Queen for a few hours and she was gay and charming with everybody. Athenais said that it was a joy to see her acting the farmer's wife and romping with her children, the young Dauphin and the Uttle Princess Royale. Even the heavy-featured, tongue-tied King came out of his sheU a Uttle and joined in a game of blind man's buff, when he was not too tired from hunting and fell asleep in his chair.

Athenais declared that he was very far from being the fool that many people thought him. He was, she said, a clever geographer, an expert locksmith, and spoke German and English well. It was his misfortune that he would much rather have been a bourgeois family-man than a King, and had it not been for his very simple tastes, gentleness and diffidence, he would have made an excellent Sovereign.

Roger could not question such a first-hand portrait but all the same he accepted it with reservation. He had heard M. de Rochambeau say more than once that the King was so bored by affairs of State that during the meetings of the Royal Council he often drew pictures of locks on his blotting-pad, instead of listening to what his ministers were saying to him; and that on other occasions he returned so exhausted from his favourite pastime of the chase that he slept soundly, snoring his way through discussions of the utmost importance.

Every time Roger saw Athenais he asked her if any decision had yet been taken about her marriage, dreading to hear that something definite had been decided which would soon put a period to their meetings; but each time she said that her father seemed in no hurry to dispose of her and, as summer approached, she sought to comfort Roger by saying that, even when her engagement was announced, a further two or three months must elapse while she got her trousseau together, so it was most unlikely that they would have to face separation until the autumn.

M. de la Tour d'Auvergne continued to show the greatest devotion to her, and she freely confessed that, of her suitors whom she had met personally, she favoured him far above the rest; but, as all negotiations for her hand Were conducted through her father, there were several that she had not seen and, perhaps, others that she did not even know about.

Roger had helped the Vicomte to find comfortable lodgings in the Rue de Richelieu, soon after Athenais had taken up her residence at Versailles, and he had since spent most of his time getting himself invited to every party at which he learned she was to appear; but he often looked in on Roger, or invited him to his apartment for a quiet talk about the object of their mutual devotion, and two or three times a week they fenced together.

It was on the 4th of June that M. de Rochambeau said to Roger: "On the 30th of this month I intend to give a ball. It is Mademoiselle Athenais's eighteenth birthday, and on that night I propose to present her to her future husband. Their Majesties have promised to honour me with their presence on this occasion,, so I desire that no expense should be spared to give them pleasure. I wish you to go into the matter with my major-domo and make all the necessary arrangements. Everybody of any importance should be invited so I should also like you to get me out a list of guests. I will submit it to the Sovereigns for their approval and when they have made any amendments they may wish, you can employ your assistant on sending out the invitations."

Roger could feel the blood draining from his face, and he prayed that the Marquis would not notice the tremor in his voice as he asked: "Er—is it your desire, Monseigneur, that the name of Mademoiselle's future husband should be given out as yet?"

"No," replied the Marquis, quietly. "The match that I have arranged for Mademoiselle is extremely suitable and she could hardly hope for a better; but 'tis my secret, and I intend to keep it as a pleasant surprise for her on the night of the ball."

At that, Roger had to leave it and, much as he hated the thought of Athenais marrying anyone, he could only pray that the pleasant surprise her father planned for her Was his consent to the suit of M. de la Tour d'Auvergne.

When he saw her next he found that she was no wiser than himself and, although she knew all about the ball, she had not succeeded in securing even a hint as to whom she was to be affianced. Her own belief Was that her father favoured the young Prince de la Roche-Aymon; who was eighteen months her junior, but now that the day of her committal was fast approaching she hoped more than ever that his choice would be her devoted and charming Vicomte.

In the weeks that followed Roger and Monsieur Roland consulted together with great frequency and gave countless orders to ensure the success of the entertainment. The Hotel was turned upside down and an army of workmen brought in to take down partitions, broaden doorways and erect canopies. The principal salons of the mansion were all ear-marked as supper or card rooms; the great courtyard was entirely floored over and tented above, to form a ballroom that would accom­modate a thousand dancers. The stables were evacuated, cleaned and converted into a mess for the troops of guards without which the King and his brothers never left their palaces. A hundred new liveries in the de Rochambeau colours were ordered so that every footman might have a brand-new one, and those hired for the evening not appear dissimilar to the permanent staff. Scores of additional candelabra were affixed to light the huge marquee and forty of the best fiddlers in Paris engaged to form the band. The Chef took on fifty additional scullions who worked for days to prepare a superb collation, and the wine butler got up over two thousand bottles of the Marquis's finest wines from the cellars.

The list of proposed guests had been returned from Versailles and the invitations sent out. They included all the Princes of the Blood, except His Royal Highness the Due d'Orleans, the twenty members of the Royal Council and, excepting the de Rohans, with their kinsmen, the Soubises, Guises and Lorraines, practically every great name that had figured in the history of France for the past three hundred years; Aiguilhon, Beaufort, Biron, Bouillon, Bourbon-Conde, Chatillion, Choiseul, Crillon, Epernon, Estrees, Gramont, Guemenee, Lambesq, Longueville, Luynes, Montmorency, Montpensier, Nemours, Nesle, Noailles, Richelieu, Rochefoucault, Soissons, Sully, Tremouille, Villeroy, Vend6me, together with a host of others, and the whole Corps Diplo­matique as at that date accredited to the Court of Versailles. Monsieur Roland was to be responsible for the service of the guests, and Roger was to be at hand from start to finish, in case during the evening the Marquis wished him to execute any special commission.

On the great night, Athenais, her powdered hair ornamented with ostrich feathers and little garlands of fresh flowers, and wearing a dress of cream satin sewn with pearls, took her place beside her father at the top of the grand staircase, to receive her guests. By eight o'clock they were arriving in a constant stream, and soon Cardinals, Duchesses, Ambassadors and Marshals of France were mingling together in a dazzling concourse. At a quarter to nine the Captain of the King's guards arrived to take possession of the house in the name of His Majesty.

At nine o'clock there sounded a loud fanfare of trumpets, announc­ing the approach of the Sovereigns, and Athenais and her father went down to receive them. Bowing or curtseying at every third step, the de Rochambeaus walked backwards before their royal guests right across the parquet floor of the great marquee until they reached the two high thrones, covered in blue velvet spangled with gold fleur-de-lys, that had been prepared upon a dais. When the King and Queen were seated their host and hostess personally offered them refreshments, and they formally broke little cakes on the gold platters and sipped wine from the crystal goblets.

For the entrance of their Majesties the other guests had formed ten deep on each side of the room into a glittering lane, and sunk in a flurry of silks and ribbons, like corn before a gust of wind, in deep obeisance as the Royal couple advanced. Now they formed in a great half-circle, leaving an empty space before the thrones, to the right and left of which the Princes of the Blood and their ladies had seated them­selves on brocaded tabourets.

The King signed to one of his gentlemen, who handed him a jewelled casket, which he gave to Athenais with his good wishes for her birthday. It contained a pair of beautiful emerald drop-shaped ear-rings. One of the Queen's ladies gave her a long, carved ivory box. Beckoning

Athenais to her she kissed her lightly on the forehead and laid the box in her arms. On opening it a feather fan was disclosed made with infinite labour from thousands of woodcock points. "Monsieur" the King's eldest brother gave her a pair of diamond buckles; the little son of the Emperor of Cochin-china, then on a mission to the French Court, a beautiful lacquer box; Monsieur Simolin, the Russian Ambassador, a cape of sables; King George's emissary, the Duke of Dorset, a fine pair of Chelsea figures; the Comte de Mercy, a case of Imperial Tokay; and so for an hour it continued, while the splendidly clad denizens of the ancien regime paid homage to birth and beauty, laying at her feet enough treasure to keep a thousand poor families from want for a twelvemonth.

When the present-giving was over, at a sign from the King, the band struck up a minuet. Louis of France rose from his throne and led Athenais de Rochambeau out on to the floor; Marie Antoinette laid her tapering fingers on the arm of the Marquis, and the two couples took up their positions to open the ball.

For two hours the stately dancing continued; myriads of candles making the jewels of the courtiers scintillate and sparkle as they threaded their way in and out of the complicated evolutions, their silks, satins and velvets blending and merging in a kaleidoscope of riotous colour.

Most of the time Roger stood a little behind the row of tabourets to the right of the thrones, glorying in the beauty of his lovely Athenais, but always keeping the Marquis in view in case some service was required of him. From time to time various friends came up and chatted to him for a while; M. de la Tour d'Auvergne—as anxious as Roger was to know his fate—Count Louis de Narbonne and the Abbd de Perigord among them.

The lame Abbé, clad in a suit of dove-grey silk, his piquant face alight with animation was, as usual, enjoying himself immensely. The fact that he was lame made other men always get up on his approach and offer him their seats, while he was never expected to extend a similar courtesy to them. In consequence, he gravitated gracefully from one to another of all the loveliest women present, and lingered at their sides whispering amusing immoralities to each of them behind their fans for as long as he listed then, with apparent regret, tore himself away to murmur the latest scandal into the willing ear of another.

Roger proved poor company that night for the people who talked to him. He knew the programme; dancing till midnight, then the announcing of the engagement, then an adjournment for supper, then dancing again until two o'clock, at which hour their Majesties would leave; but the band would play on till four, and by five it was hoped that any lingering drunks would be carried off to their coaches by their servants.

The two hours' dancing before supper seemed an eternity to him and afterwards he only remembered one episode during it. He had moved out a little down one side of the room and was standing behind two men who were some way apart from the crowd.

Suddenly he heard one of them say in English: "I'd give a thousand guineas to know what's inside that damn' fellow's head. If ever there was a mischief-maker, he is one."

The other replied quietly: "Don't worry, Your Grace. We'll know in due course. We have a very reliable agent here. It seems that he is averse to contacting the Embassy, but, no doubt, should any crisis arise he will return home and report to Maxwell personally."

Roger saw that they were both looking intently at the Marquis, and he knew that the first speaker was the British Ambassador, the Duke of Dorset. It flashed into his mind that the other was probably Mr. Daniel Hailes, and that he himself was the "very reliable agent" referred to.

The fact that his King's representatives knew of and counted on him came as a shock, and even more so the intimation that, in the event of a crisis, he was expected to go home and report in person.

At last the band stopped playing, the Sovereigns returned to their thrones and the glittering throng formed again into a great half-circle before them. Under the direction of Monsieur Roland scores of footmen had appeared carrying silver salvers loaded with glasses of champagne. The major-domo himself brought two lovely Venetian goblets on a gold salver to M. de Rochambeau. Going down on one knee the Marquis offered them to their Majesties and each took one.

The King then stood up and addressed the assembled company. "Cousins, my lords and ladies; it is our Royal pleasure this night to er—thank Monsieur de Rochambeau for the very pleasant entertain­ment he has afforded us. It is also our, er—pleasure to give our Royal consent to a contract of marriage uniting two great and ancient families, both er—distinguished for their services to the Crown. We refer, of course, to the forthcoming nuptials of Mademoiselle de Rochambeau. It will be our Royal pleasure to sign as witness to the marriage contract on a suitable date at—er—our palace of Versailles. In wishing happiness to this couple it gives us special pleasure to know that M. le Marquis has selected for his son-in-law another great land­owner in our Province of Brittany."

For Athenais's sake Roger's heart leapt for joy. The King's last words could only mean that the Marquis had decided to give her to M. de la Tour d'Auvergne.

After a little pause the King coughed, and went on:

"Mademoiselle de Rochambeau is indeed fortunate, as her husband-to-be is one of the richest men in our realm. But M. le Comte de Caylus is also to be congratulated...."

CHAPTER xx

THE BETROTHAL

AGHAST, choking with shock and indignation, Roger took in the terrible sentence that had been passed on Athenais. As though in a nightmare he heard the heavy-faced, lugubrious King drone on, proposing the health and happiness of M. de Caylus and his future Countess; and saw the burly, sallow-complexioned quadroon step forward from a group of gentlemen on the far side of the thrones.

De Caylus bowed very deeply, first to the Sovereigns, then to Athenais. Roger could not see her face but he knew what she must be feeling and he feared that she might faint under the shock. But, with the self-discipline that was one of the virtues of her caste she went through the prescribed formalities without even a tremor. Having sunk almost to the ground in a graceful curtsey she slowly rose to her full height and extended her right hand. The King took it and placed it in M. de Caylus's left. Then raising his goblet the Monarch toasted the affianced pair. A moment later the great marquee was ringing with the cheers of the splendid company.

The King gave his arm to the Queen. With her on his left and M. de Rochambeau one pace behind him to his right they led the way up the grand staircase to supper. Athenais and M. de Caylus walked immediately behind them, then came the chastely beautiful Princess de Lamballe, who was in attendance on the Queen, escorted by Comte Lucien de Rochambeau and, after them, the Princes, Ambassadors and nobles followed in strict order of precedence.

It took twenty minutes for the marquee to empty, and for most of that time Roger's brain refused to work. The thought of Athenais married to de Caylus made him almost physically sick, yet he knew that the vast majority of those who had witnessed the betrothal took a completely different view of the matter. They would not give a thought to the human, personal side of the affair but regard the alliance as eminently suitable.

Their attitude to such matters was brought home to him afresh by seeing the Abbé de Perigord with the young and lovely Countess de Flahaut, whom everybody openly regarded as his wife in all but name, going upstairs to supper. By right of birth the Abbé" should have been the Count de Talleyrand-Perigord but, simply because he had met with an accident when a child, his father had deprived him of his right to inherit both title and estates, and forced him against his will to go into the Church. Yet the Abbé bore no resentment against his father; he recognised that in all things family must come first.

How Roger got through the remaining hours of the ball he never afterwards remembered. At one time he looked everywhere for M. de la Tour d'Auvergne, but could not find him, and so assumed that, overcome with distress, he had gone home. In due course their Majesties, surrounded by their personal attendants, guards and trumpeters, were ushered to the long train of coaches that would bear the Royal party back to the Palais des Tuilleries. Soon afterwards Athenais, a fixed, strained smile on her face, which was chalk-white under her rouge, begged to be excused; but the dancing and hollow-sounding laughter seemed to go on interminably. At last the crowd began to thin but, owing to the congestion in the narrow street outside, it could not get away very rapidly. Roger saw that it would be another hour at least before all the guests had gone and, deciding that he could stand it no longer, went up to his room.

When he reached it the summer dawn was already breaking, so he saw at once the small, huddled figure sprawled face downwards on his bed. It took him only a second to guess that when Athenais's maids had left her for the night she must have crept up to the play­room and crossed the roof to climb in at his window. Throwing himself on his knees beside the bed, he took her in his arms.

She was so distraught with grief that, for a time, she could only sob her heart out on his chest and murmur:

"Oh, Rojé, Rojé, what am I to do? I cannot bear it. I cannot bear it."

With the comfort of his arms about her, gradually her paroxysms of weeping eased, and she said bitterly: "Why, with half the gentlemen in France to choose from, must my father give me to that loathsome creature. I would have done my best to make de la Tour d'Auvergne happy; I could have borne with de Porcin, or played a mother's part to httle de la Roche-Aymon. But the very thought of this beast repels me. Oh, Rojé, what shall I do?"

"Can you not appeal to the Queen," he suggested. "She is said to be kind-hearted, and you say she likes you. Surely she would speak to your father?"

Athenais shook her head. "Nay, 'twould be useless, dear love. The Queen is kind, but a martinet where duty is concerned. All the world knows how she must have suffered herself when she first came to Court as a beautiful young bride. The King has never been renowned for his address, and so oafish was he as a young Prince that 'twas seven years before he could bring himself to sleep with her. Everyone knew of her humiliation, yet she bore it with quiet pride, and expects others to face things disagreeable to them in a like manner. She would never interfere in a family matter such as this."

Roger hesitated only a moment, before he said: "Then there is only one thing for it. We must elope together."

She started up and clutched his wrist. "Elope! How can we, Rojé? Where could we go?"

"To England, angel"

"But did yon not tell me that your father had forbidden you his house?"

" 'Tis true," he admitted. "But at least I am no servant there. My mother would help us, and in time my father will come round."

"Are you sure of that? I love you, Rojé; oh, I love you dearly; yet I know only too well that I should make but a poor wife for a pauper."

"All will be well. I'm certain of it," he said as firmly as he could manage.

During the past nine months he had thought a hundred times of asking her to run away with him, but he had always put the thought from him because he had so terribly little to offer her. It was for that reason he had hesitated a moment back, before proposing such a desperate expedient. He knew that his mother would help them, as far as she could, but she had not a penny of her own; and, if his father remained adamant, even the best employment he could hope to get would produce an income that, to Athenais, would seem little better than penury. Yet, save her he must from de Caylus, and this seemed the only possible way that offered; so he went on with more confidence.

"I've a hundred and fifty louis saved, which would keep us in reasonable comfort for a while. Then your jewels, with those you received to-night, must be worth a small fortune. God forbid that I should live on you like some shiftless adventurer; but they would provide a sheet anchor, were there some delay in my obtaining a suitable appointment. That should not be hard, though, after the experience I've had with your father. We would not be rich, but I've confidence in myself now, and once given a decent opening I vow I could earn enough to keep us like gentlefolk. And we'd have each other."

She flung her arms round his neck. "Oh, Rojé, dear miller's youngest son; I've not a doubt but that in time you'll make your fortune, and I'd be content to wait for that. I hate the Court, with all its boring ceremonies and stupid etiquette. I'll leave it gladly if you can make enough so that we'll not starve."

"Very well!" he cried, pressing her to him. "Oh, my beloved! I swear you'll not regret it. My father will come round. He could not do otherwise once he sees you. But that apart, we'll make a place for ourselves and have such joy in doing it. With you to work for nothing can stop me."

"I know it," she laughed, turning her tear-stained face up to him. "As for my jewels, they are yours to do as you wish with. At least they would buy and furnish a pleasant little house. Then what you earned could be devoted wholly to food, clothes and servants, and— and children, if they came to us."

"I hope they do. I'd adore to have a daughter just like you."

"Oh, but I must have a son first. A son, Rojé, with your blue eyes and those lovely, long dark lashes."

"We'll have both, dear heart; and more if you wish. Would you like lots of children?"

"Yes. And I would keep them with us in our home. I'd not let them be put out to nurse as is the custom here in France."

"I wouldn't let you, anyway," he smiled. "There is little point in having children unless one has the fun of playing with them."

"And telling them stories," she added. "I know so many lovely fairy stories that I shall be able to tell ours."

"Our own story is better than any fairy tale, and you will be able to tell them that, my sweet Princess."

"Dear miller's youngest son! I fear I'll find it very strange in England at first, though. Shall we five in London?"

He nodded. "Yes, since 'tis there that I shall find my best oppor­tunities. And with you for my wife I'll be the proudest man in the whole city.

"Your wifel" she whispered.

Suddenly she gripped his arms with all her strength and her fingers dug into his muscles.

"Your wife!" she breathed again. "But, Rojé, I had forgot. I never think of you as one, but—but you are a heretic. I could never marry a heretic."

He too, had temporarily forgotten that last sinister barrier, of man-made bigotry, intolerance and superstition, which, towering high above all others, still separated them.

"You would be an Englishwoman if you married me," he muttered, still dazed from the sudden shock to all the castles in the air they had been building. "And nearly everyone in England is a Protestant.

"Don't ask me to recant!" she cried. "Don't ask me, I beg. I couldn't do it. 'Twould be to imperil my immortal soul."

All Roger's love for her, all the mental pictures of the dream world they had been creating and his acute reluctance to leave her in her present desperate situation, fought within him against the inherited teachings of the Reformation; yet they were not strong enough to prevail entirely.

"I'd give my life for you," he said slowly. "I would lay it down to-morrow; but I hesitate to risk my hopes of salvation."

"Then how can we marry? Oh, Rojé, will you not think again, and be received into the Catholic Church?"

"I cannot promise that. I must have time to consider it. But wait! Does not the Pope grant dispensations in special cases? If we could secure one we might yet be married in your Church but each continue in our own religions."

She looked up suddenly, with new hope shining in her eyes. " 'Tis true; and there lies the way out of our difficulty. Such dispensations are costly, I believe; but, if need be, the price of my jewels must go for that. And, for your part, 'twould be necessary only for you to sign a promise that any children of the marriage be brought up in the Roman faith."

"What say you!" he exclaimed. "Commit unborn children to follow a faith of which they have no knowledge! Nay, that I would never do. My soul is my own to jeopardise for love's sake if I wish. Having done so I might still receive God's mercy, but how could I ever hope for that if I signed away the rights of others, who have as yet no minds with which to take decisions of their own."

"But, Rojé," she pleaded. " 'Tis natural that children should be brought up to some religion."

"Indeed it is; and as in most cases the parents are of the same faith there arises no question as to what it should be. But where the parents differ 'tis but fair that the children should be left a free choice to decide for themselves, when they are old enough."

Athehais sighed. "Rojé, dear heart, I am no theologian to argue such questions. I know only the simple facts. The Holy Father will not grant a dispensation for such a marriage as we plan unless you are willing to swear a solemn oath that all children of the marriage should be baptised into the Catholic faith."

He laid his hands on hers and gently drew her arms away from about his neck. "My love," he said softly, 'Tate is too strong for us. Even for you I'll buy no dispensation at such a price. Come to England with me if you will and we'll tell everyone that we have been married in France. I pledge yon my oath, here and now, never to desert you, and to ever regard you in all things as my wife. But unless you'll marry me by Church of England rites, more I have not the power to offer."

"I cannot," she whispered. " 'Twould make me old before my time to have the ever-present knowledge that I was living in sin; and that my children were bastards, born out of wedlock. No lasting happiness to either of us could ever come of it."

Then with a moan she turned away from him and, burying her face in his pillow, began to sob out her heart.

While he soothed and sought to comfort her he strove to think of some way in which he might yet save her from having to marry de Caylus. It came to him then that there was one possible line of action which he might attempt.

She sat up at last and, still crying quietly, said: "I cannot blame you, Rojé. I would feel the same, did you try to bring my babies up as heretics. For a little time we deluded ourselves with a vision of a happiness that we shall never know. Yet I will not submit to marrying de Caylus. There is one escape that even my father cannot deny me. I'd rather put the world and all things in it behind me by casting myself upon the bosom of the Church."

"What! Take the veil?" he exclaimed, aghast.

"Yes. Why not? Had I not known love with you I might have supported that loathsome man's caresses. But now 'tis impossible. If he touched me I would plunge a poignard in his heart; so 'tis better, far, that I should enter a convent.

"You must not do it," he pleaded. "You are so young, so beautiful; 'twould be a sin against nature to let them cut off your golden hair and shut you up for life. Besides, I have thought of a way by which I yet may free you from this hateful marriage. I'll call M. de Caylus out, and kill him."

"Oh, my sweet Rojé," she sighed. "The thought is monstrous brave and I know you'd do it, were it possible; but you forget the status you have assumed here in France. M. de Caylus would never accept your challenge. No noble will ever cross swords with one whom he considers to be beneath him."

Carried away by his distress, Roger had forgotten that; yet he knew that she was right, and he could only mutter angrily: "I'd sooner be broken on the wheel than live to think of you in his arms, or suffering a living death in the black robes of a nun."

For a time they fell silent; but full daylight had now come, stressing for both of them the utter exhaustion they felt from the emotions that had torn them during the past night. Athenais made Roger swear that he would do nothing rash without first informing her of his intention, and he made her swear that she would likewise take no steps to enter a convent before they had met and talked again.

In the meantime, both knew that her betrothal to M. de Caylus amounted to no more than a formality. He might send her flowers and presents and call upon her, but they would never be left alone together for a moment; so her life would continue just as it had before.

They embraced and kissed sadly once more; then she pulled the thick robe that she was wearing closely round her and Roger, having helped her out of his window, led her across the roof to the old play­room, where they kissed again and parted. When he got back to his room he found that he was dead-beat. Pulling off his clothes he flopped into bed and, laying his head on the pillow, still damp from Athenais's tears, he fell unhappily asleep.

Shortly after midday he was roused by a servant coming to tell him that a courier had arrived with urgent dispatches from the United Provinces. On going downstairs he opened them to learn that a match had been struck there well calculated to light the powder-barrel.

Joseph de Rayneval wrote that, since the Stadtholder dared not visit the Hague from fear of an attempt upon his person, his wife, the beautiful and high-spirited Princess of Orange, had resolved to do so, with the intention of putting heart into their supporters there. She had set out a few days previously but, on reaching Schoonhoven, had been stopped by troops belonging to the Province of Holland, treated like a prisoner and, after suffering arrest for a few hours, turned back. For this affront she had demanded that her brother, Frederick-William II of Prussia, should send troops to exact vengeance in her name.

When M. de Rochambeau heard the news he was delighted. He told Roger that he did not think that the King of Prussia would accede to his sister's demand, as his predecessor, Frederick the Great, had already made Prussia's position clear before his death. It was known that when Mr. Pitt had sent Lord Cornwallis to ascertain his intentions during the Dutch crisis of the previous September the old and ailing monarch had declared that an alliance between England and himself to check French ambitions would mean a general war in which England would have to meet the fleets of France, Spain, Holland and perhaps Russia; while he would have on his hands the armies of France, Russia and Austria; and that "although such a contest had been maintained, it was not a game to play often." So the odds were all against the Prussians taking up arms to avenge this insult to the Princess, and their failure to do so would weaken the Stadtholder's position still further.

As soon as Roger was free of the Marquis he hurried round to the lodgings of M. de la Tour d'Auvergne but, to his chagrin, learned that the Vicomte had left that afternoon for Versailles. Why he should have done so Roger could not imagine as, normally, the Vicomte's movements were always governed by those of Athehais, and she was still in Paris; but it occurred to him that now she was affianced to M. de Caylus his friend might consider himself in honour bound to cease his attentions to her.

Two days later Athenais and her father left again for Versailles. The Hotel was still in a turmoil with an army of workmen setting it to rights after the ball, so Roger mooned miserably about it tripping over pieces of scaffolding, and unable to settle to anything. Then late that night M. de la Tour d'Auvergne's servant came to ask him to go to his master's lodging.

Roger found the Vicomte pale but calm. He said at once, "I trust that I have not roused you from your bed, but I wished you to know that I fight at dawn."

There was no need to ask who? Roger nodded. "I had the same idea myself, but my position debars me from it."

The Vicomte poured him a glass of wine. "I realise that, and 'twas one of my reasons for not asking you to be one of my seconds. The other was the fact that I do not wish Mademoiselle de Rochambeau's name to be associated with the meeting; and your presence at it might lead to that, owing to your connection with the family. It has taken me three days hanging about Versailles to find a suitable pretext; but this afternoon I learned that M. de Caylus had booked the tennis court. I forestalled him there with M. de Broglie, and refused to give it up. High words followed and to make certain that de Caylus should call me out I taunted him with his black blood. I said: 'de la Tour d'Auvergne does not give way to one who is but three-quarters noble and the other quarter slave'; and those present had to restrain him from having at me there and then."

" 'Twas well done," said Roger. "What think you of your chances?"

" 'Tis hard to say. Physically he is much stronger than myself, and is reputed a most redoubtable antagonist. Yet, as you know, I am well in practice and have the advantage that I have not debauched myself with opera girls these past ten years."

"You will kill him if you can?"

"I must. 'Tis no case for half-measures. Naught but his death can serve to break this monstrous betrothal."

"May God guide your sword. But what of the results? Think you the King will enforce the edicts against duelling in your case?"

The Vicomte smoothed down the lace at his throat. " 'Tis most unlikely that His Majesty will take serious action against a de la Tour d'Auvergne; but he may exile me to my father's estates for a while. For that I care little, providing I can save Mademoiselle Athenais from this hideous match. I have a letter here that I wish you to give her in the event of my death; but should I be only wounded, or fortune favour me, I pray you destroy it."

Roger took the letter, and asked after a moment: "How do you intend to spend the hours which yet have to pass before the meeting? If you desire my company I will gladly remain; but if you can sleep it would be the better for your prospects."

"I thank you, mon ami," the Vicomte replied, "but I have a quiet conscience, so think that sleep will not de denied me. We meet in the Bois de Vincennes at five o'clock; and M. de Broglie and M. de Melleraie will call for me here at four. Till then I'll doze upon my bed."

"I pray you let your man, Jacques, come to me the moment the duel is over," said Roger, "and if all is well I'll find the means to convey intelligence to Mademoiselle of the great service you will have rendered her. Meanwhile I shall not cease to think of you, and all my prayers will be for your success."

They shook hands firmly, and Roger returned to the Hotel de Rochambeau in a state of almost unbearable excitement. He knew his friend to be an accomplished swordsman, but also, that this was his first duel, whereas the Comte de Caylus had emerged triumphantly from upwards of a dozen serious engagements. Yet, knowing the Vicomte's feelings as he did, it seemed to Roger that Athenais's cham­pion must overcome his opponent through sheer strength of purpose and that, if need.be

, divine aid would be given to ensure his victory.

The thought that within a few hours Athenais might be freed from her horrible commitment filled him with a sense of thanksgiving and elation; but while the issue still remained uncertain he could not escape intermittent waves of apprehension from the knowledge that the Vicomte might be called on to pay a terrible price in his bid to save her, and her position not be bettered after all.

He found sleep quite impossible and by five o'clock was down at the entrance to the courtyard, pacing feverishly to and fro; although he knew that the Vicomte's servant could not bring him tidings of the encounter for another hour, at least.

The meeting was at five but twenty minutes or more would be occupied by the completion of the preliminaries. The seconds would take their time to choose a suitable piece of ground and make certain there were no pitfalls in it; they would discuss such points as to if their principals should fight booted or in stockinged feet, and how they should be placed before engaging so that the light favoured neither party. Then the duel itself might be prolonged by one or other of the protagonists being wounded. The seconds would intervene and a discussion would ensue as to the gravity of the wound and, if it did not appear too serious and the wounded man declared himself still unsatisfied, the combat would be renewed. Then, when a final decision had been reached, it would take a horseman riding fast a good half-hour to cover the distance between the Bois de Vincennes and central Paris. In an agony of mingled hope and fear Roger strove to fight down his impatience.

As the bell of St. Germain l'Auxerrois ceased tolling a quarter after six, he saw M. de la Tour d'Auvergne's servant come cantering down the cobbled street, and ran out to meet him. One look at the man's face was enough and, with a sinking heart, Roger exclaimed:

"Your masterl How is he?"

"Bad, Monsieur!" cried Jacques, reining in his horse. "Yet 'tis hoped the wound will not prove fatal. 'Twas over quickly but mighty desperate while it lasted. They fought for but two minutes, then M. de Caylus ran in upon my master and delivered a tricky thrust in the old style, from above. His sword pierced M. le Vicomte under the collar bone and, 'tis thought, passed through the top of his lung. He wished to continue, but his seconds would not permit it. He is being brought back in M. de Broglie's coach, and I go now to warn them at our lodging."

Wheeling his horse about the man cantered off and, sadly downcast, Roger re-entered the Hotel. His hopes of the past night had proved only wishful thinking and his beloved Athenais was still chained by her father's given word to the millionaire quadroon.

That afternoon he went to see the Vicomte and, to his relief, learned that his lung was not affected; but the sword had passed right through the upper part of his body, and the doctors said that it would be two months or so before he would be well enough to get about again.

The story of the duel soon ran round Paris and, in spite of the Vicomte's precautions, Athenais's name was freely mentioned as its cause, owing to his having so openly sought her favour. But, as neither of the combatants had been killed, and both were highly placed, the King took no action in the matter.

In the middle of the month Athenais returned to Paris, and Roger saw her within a few hours of her arrival. She said that her fiance now waited on her every morning and that, in Madame Marie-Ange's company, she was compelled to endure his conversation for an hour or more. He was, she admitted, both clever and forceful; but personally, she found him odious and she had come to dread the speculative smile with which he always regarded her.

He had pressed for the marriage contract to be signed in mid-August, but she had protested that she could not possibly have her trousseau ready until well on in September, and her father had compromised by settling the date as Wednesday, the 30th of August.

As there were still seven weeks to go Roger begged her not to take any drastic step as yet, urging that something might occur to prevent the marriage; although M. de la Tour d'Auvergne's attempt to kill de Caylus having failed, neither of them could think of any event likely to do so.

Athenais asked him to express to the Vicomte her deep appreciation of the courage and devotion he had shown, and sent him many kind messages; then they embraced and, encouraging one another to hope for a miracle, parted.

Towards the end of July and in early August the Dutch Ambassador Mynheer Van Brantzen and his colleague Mynheer Van Berkenroode, paid a number of visits to the Marquis. They did not represent the Stadtholder, as he was not in the true sense a Monarch, but their High Mightinesses the States-General, and both were strong Republicans. Their visits led to a long correspondence between the Marquis and M. de Segur, the Minister of War, by which arrangements were made for numerous consignments of French arms to be smuggled over the Dutch frontier. Then, these secret negotiations with the Dutch Emissaries were concluded one night by their arriving accompanied by a strongly armed escort, and removing in two coaches a very considerable sum in gold that the Marquis paid over to them.

It was this which at last gave Roger, as he thought, the clue to M. de Rochambeau's deep-laid scheme. The Marquis had no intention of plunging France into a war which must have proved her final financial ruin. He was, instead, seeking to make French influence paramount in the United Provinces, once and for all, by not only encouraging but actually financing a revolution.

Roger had heard enough of the conversations before the money was handed over to realise that it was to be used to pay the Republican free-corps that had been raised in most of the Dutch cities, since these careful burghers, anxious as they were to abolish their hereditary

Chief Magistrate, would not leave their businesses to take up arms against him unless their expenses were first guaranteed.

That the Marquis and his friends were evidently not, after all, plotting to bring about a general war greatly relieved Roger's anxieties. Civil war was a very different matter and he did not feel that this could bring his country into jeopardy, or seriously weaken her position. British prestige in the United Provinces was already so low that it could hardly be lower. Britain's friend, the weak and inept Stadtholder had for many months past exercised little more than a tenuous authority over a small minority of his cities, so it did not appear that it could materially affect the situation if he were swept away altogether. The thing that did matter and was of vital concern, was that the Dutch ports should not fall into the hands of France, but they certainly could not do so without an outbreak of hostilities between the nations, and of that there now seemed little likelihood.

The King's troubles had by no means been ended by his dissolution of the Assembly of Notables. On the 12th of July certain members of the Parliament of Paris had, for the first time, proposed that, since the Notables had failed, the Estates-General, which had not sat for one hundred and seventy-three years, should be summoned; and declared that they alone had the right to impose fresh taxation. On the 19th the Parliament followed this by flatly refusing to register the Royal edict imposing the new taxes. They were, in fact, little more than a judicial body and had no power to make laws themselves; but they at least possessed a type of negative veto, since no measure ordained by the King actually became law until they had registered it.

The Archbishop of Toulouse, the King's new adviser, proved quite incapable of dealing with the situation and the Monarch, anxious as ever to do the right thing but hesitating between half a dozen different policies, was at length persuaded by his more robust councillors to hold a Bed of Justice. Recourse had not been had to this for many years; it consisted of a formal ceremony at which all the Great Officers of State were present, and, addressing them from the throne, the King spoke his will, such orders as he might give them being considered as imperative.

On the 9th of August the Bed of Justice was held at Versailles, and the King formally ordered the Parliament to register the Edicts. Parliament still refused and demanded the convening of the States-General. Such a situation had never arisen before and on the 16th the King, at his wits.' end, exiled the Parliament to Troyes, hoping that this exceptional measure would break down their resistance.

A week in exile having no effect and the exchequer being near empty, on the 23rd the King sent his two brothers to forcibly register the Edicts concerning the Stamp Duty and Land Tax at the Chambre des Comptes and the Cour des Aides respectively. All through August Paris had been in a ferment, and now rioting broke out in earnest; the guards of the Comte d'Atois were attacked on his reaching the Cour des Aides, and many people were injured.

Roger heard from day to day about all -these things. Had he given them serious thought he might have realised that so many crises following swiftly on each other, and culminating in mob violence against the retinue of a Royal Prince, could be no less than the first mutterings of the Revolution which had been foreshadowed by so many of his friends. But his whole mind was now given to the thing which engaged his heart—the grim and horrible future which, unless something could be done to avert it, was soon to engulf his beloved Athenais.

He dealt automatically with the dispatches which continued to arrive from Holland, but took scant notice of their contents or of any of the conferences that the Marquis frequently held with regard to them. A summer camp for the crack regiments of the French army had been formed, as planned earlier in the year, in Flanders; and the command of this small but efficient force given to the Marquis's brother, M. le Comte de Rochambeau, who was a highly qualified General and had commanded the last French expeditionary force to be sent to America to aid the Colonists against Britain in their war of Independence. M. de Castries, too, had given secret orders for the finest ships of the French fleet to assemble at Brest and to hold themselves in readiness to sail at twelve hours' notice.

Roger had duly sent all such purely military information to Mr. Gilbert Maxwell, but he was a Uttle afraid that it might prove mis­leading to the British Government, since he was now personally con­vinced that all these measures were no more than bluff. Standing as he did at M. de Rochambeau's elbow, it seemed perfectly clear to him that the Marquis meant at all costs to avoid war, and the one thing of which he was frightened was that Prussia should intervene in the affairs of the United Provinces by giving military aid to the Stadtholder before the Republicans could pull off their coup d'etat and present Europe with a fait accompli.

Frederick-Wilhelm II was becoming slightly more bellicose and had moved a certain number of troops down to the Dutch frontier, but the Marquis was convinced that he did not wish to fight, and evidently considered that the best way of preventing him from actually sending troops over the border was for France to show equal readiness and a greater concentration of forces.

Athenais was now very frequently in Paris as, to keep up the pretence that she meant to go through with the marriage that had been arranged for her, she had ordered an elaborate trousseau; and this necessitated her dressmakers, furriers, mantle makers and milliners waiting upon her several days a week and occupying hours of her time.

Madame Marie-Ange had long since become accustomed to her charge's strange whim of browsing through the collection of old toys and books in the neglected playroom and, as her hip stiU pained her when negotiating any flight of stairs, she never came up there. In consequence, from the latter part of July onward, Athenais and Roger had met there at least once, and often twice, a week.

Having each sworn to take no rash action without first consulting the other they seemed to have reached a stalemate. At every meeting each snatched at the caresses that the other offered so eagerly and strove to put out of their minds the inexorable approach of the fatal day.

M. de la Tour d'Auvergne's wound had healed well and, by mid-August, he was able to get about again; but he still wore one arm strapped to his side in order to prevent any sudden movement reopening the wound. Roger went often to see him and, again and again, they talked gloomily of Athenais's situation. The Vicomte still had no idea that Roger saw her alone in secret, but knew that he was devoted to her and the two of them racked their brains in vain for a way to save her from the nightmare of a marriage with M. de Caylus. The Vicomte said that he would willingly fight again but, having fought him once, the Count was under no compulsion to do so a second time, and, in any case, the wound received in the first combat rendered another out of the question until long after the date fixed for the wedding.

Athenais herself brought matters to a head. On the evening of Sunday the 20th of August, after she and Roger had both attended Vespers, they kept a tryst in the playroom. He had hardly taken her in his arms, before she said:

"My dear love, let us make the most of this hour, for 'tis the last we will have together."

Roger began to speak, but she put a soft hand over his mouth, and went on: "There are but ten days left, and I can bear the strain of evading this terrible issue no longer. I have had ample time to search my mind and I cannot face marriage with M. de Caylus. I have now formed a definite resolve to tell my father to-morrow night that it is my intention to seek refuge from the world in a convent."

For a moment Roger did not reply. He had hoped to the last moment that Providence would intervene and provide some way of escape for her; but with only nine clear days left there now seemed little chance of that. He felt as if, somehow, deep down inside himself, he had always known that if she was to be saved it would depend upon himself. He had thought about the awful problem for so long that he knew exactly what he was called on to do. And now, at whatever risk to himself, the time had come when he must do it.

CHAPTER XXI

DOUBLE CRISIS

WHEN Roger did speak, it was firmly. He said: "No. You are not to defy your father yet. I have devised a way in which I can preserve you from M. de Caylus; but it will take a few days to arrange the final details. You must give me till the end of the week. We will meet again on Saturday and if I cannot tell you definitely that there is a fair chance of your not being called on to go through with this hateful marriage you may, that night, declare your intention of retiring to a convent. But you are not to take this most desperate step till then."

His voice held such a ring of authority and confidence that Athenais gave in without a murmur; and after an hour of sweet emotion he left her, fully determined on his project.

When the Marquis was in Paris he often worked late at night but he never entered his sanctum before midday, so Roger was under no obligation to be in his office much before that hour. On coming downstairs the morning after he had pledged himself to take desperate measures he ordered his favourite riding-horse to be saddled and, shortly after nine o'clock, took the road to Passy.

M. l'Abbé de Perigord's circle did not gather, to pull the world to pieces over their cups of chocolate at the little house in the Rue de Bellechasse, until eleven o'clock; so Roger planned to get in an hour alone with his friend before any of the others arrived. When he reached the house he was told that M. le Abbé had not yet risen, but Roger had expected that and he sent up a message to the effect that he had come thus early as he particularly desired a private conversation which might occupy some little time.

He was asked to wait in the familiar, sunny morning-room, and a quarter of an hour later the Abbé joined him there. M. de Perigord was still in deshabille, wearing a loose gown of shot-blue silk and looking somewhat jaded.

Gracefully smothering a yawn he said: "You're a fine fellow to get me up at this godless hour: I did not get to bed till after seven."

Roger smiled. "You're such a glutton for enjoyment that I thought you never slept, but I suppose you needs must at times."

"Alas, yes! But I spent the night hours with the Du Barry, at her chateau of Luciennes; and 'twas a riot, but exhausting."

"What, thenl Have you now become the lover of Louis XV's old mistress?"

"Nay, I fear I expressed myself badly. 'Tis said that since Lord Seymour left her she has been as faithful as a bourgeois wife to the Due de Cosse-Brissac. I was but one of the fifteen guests—all of us men, whom they entertained to dinner. And though she must be forty-three or more I vow she did not look a day over thirty. Moreover, although she was bred in the gutter she has ever been a most charming hostess, and she has not lost the art in her retirement. After dinner she gave us a ballet representing the Concourse of the Nations. There were fifteen beauties in it, each of a different nationality, including a Chinese, an Arab, an Indian and a Blackamoor. When tile ballet was done they supped with us and we drew lots for their favour. The Spaniard fell to me and she proved no mean performer. But I weary you with all this. Tell me now of this urgent matter which has caused you to rob me of my beauty sleep."

Roger at once plunged into the business he had come upon and, without mentioning any names, gave an account of the situation in which Athenais and himself found themselves. He then asked the Abbé what he would advise the hypothetical young man in the case to do.

M. de Perigord's slim hand covered another yawn. "Why, 'tis simple, mon ami. If the young man is not a fool he will point out to the young woman that, after three months in a convent she will spend the rest of her life regretting her rash decision, whereas after three months of marriage to her fianc6 she will have forgotten how unpleasant he is."

"But those three months!" protested Roger. "Nay! I could never urge the woman I love to surrender herself to such a nightmare."

The Abbé smiled with mild amusement. " 'Twas not for me to dot the "i's" and cross the "t's"; but now that you have let the cat out of the bag, shall we talk of yourself and, quite obviously, Mademoiselle de Rochambeau's betrothal to M. le Comte de Caylus?"

Roger shrugged. "I would have had to name them later, in any case, since I require your help."

"Then, if you have already formed some plan, why ask my advice?"

"Because I thought you might be able to suggest something that I have not yet thought of. I hoped you would see the problem from a different angle."

" 'Tis clear that I do. 'Twould be a crazy act for a lovely creature like Athenais de Rochambeau to cut short her life at the age of eighteen."

"I know it. But she herself has selected that course rather than marry de Caylus. And how can one blame her? The very thought of her in the arms of that gross half-breed is a blasphemy."

"Nonsense!" The Abbé rubbed the tip of his retroussé nose angrily. "What matters a man's size to a woman providing he be a good lover; and de Caylus is a healthy enough animal. As for his dash of black blood, 'tis a thing against which you English are prejudiced, I know, but here in France we are more broadminded. If she dislikes his looks tell her to put a pillow over her face and think of the lovely curly-haired children he will give her. Honestly, mon cher Chevalier, you are behaving like a child and I needs must speak brutally to bring you to your senses."

Roger had gone slightly pale, and he exclaimed: "He'll give her no children as long as I live!"

De Perigord threw up his hands. "Since, like all advice-seekers, you came here only to have some project you have already formed applauded, let me hear it."

"With God's help I mean to kill him!"

"The devil you do! And how, may I ask?"

"By calling him out, of course; surely you do not consider me capable of stooping to assassination?"

"You appear mad enough at the moment to be capable of anything. But surely you realise that he would never accept a challenge from M. de Rochambeau's secretary?"

"Exactly! And that is where I require your help. I intend to waylay him somewhere, disclose my true status to him, and call on him to fight a duel a outrance. My difficulty is that he may not believe me; and you are the only man in France who can convince him that I am of noble blood."

"Why should he believe me, more than another?"

"Because, immediately I told you that Lord Kildonan was my uncle, you exclaimed upon my likeness to him."

De Perigord nodded. "That is true. I would stake all I possess on your being related to the Earl. But do you realise what you are asking of me? You are suggesting that I should act as your second in a duel and, although I may not be a very good one, I am a priest."

"I had not forgotten it; and all I ask is that you should bear witness before M. de Caylus that I have the right to carry arms. I then intend to dispense with all formalities and fight him on the spot."

"Mon dieu! But this is utter madness. After encounters in which a death results the edicts against duelling are applied with some severity. So, if you mean to fight to a finish, you would, at the least, expose yourself to a spell in prison. Yet you are not content with that, and propose to place yourself outside all duelling convention by fighting without seconds. Should you kill de Caylus in such circum­stances 'twill be counted murder, and the King will make you answer for it with your head."

"I am aware of that; but 'tis a risk that I must take. Were I to indulge in all the usual formalities of a duel, with seconds, doctors, servants and the like, 'twould be bound to leak out; and if it became generally known that I had fought for Athenais' twould ruin her prospects of another marriage, so her father would throw her into a convent whether she would or no. I plan to hold up de Caylus in his coach somewhere, at night; and I'll be masked myself, so that his servants will not recognise me. Then, if fortune favours me, 'twill be thought that he was killed defending himself from some highwayman, and no loose tongues will wag a tale that.Mademoiselle de Rocbambeau had an affair with her father's secretary."

"The plan is well devised," muttered the Abbé, "but so startling that I have as yet scarce taken it in. Tell me though, if you mean to act the highwayman where is the necessity for me to play a part?" "'Twill be for you, Abbé, and you'll do me this great kindness, to with him when we halt his coach, while I remain at some little ce. Unless someone whom he knows parleys with him civilly he might think that we are highwaymen in truth, and call on his servants to fire upon us with their blunderbusses. To be filled full of lead would be but a poor ending to such an undertaking. Besides, I am most averse to having him think that he has been set upon by some cut-purse. Though we'll have no seconds I am anxious that all the usual courtesies should be observed, and that we should fight like gentlemen."

De Perigord sighed. "I follow your reasoning, but am most loath to aid you in this desperate business. I know nothing of your ability with the rapier, but I do know that de Caylus is counted one of the finest swordsmen in France. He has fought a score of times, and 'tis scarce two months ago that he made a sorry mess of M. de la Tour d'Auvergne in a matter of minutes."

"I am prepared for the Worst," said Roger soberly, "but at least I will stand a better chance than the Vicomte, for I have bested him in many a practice bout."

"But 'tis heads de Caylus wins and tails you lose," protested the Abbé\ "All the odds are that you will be killed yourself; but if you are not, and kill him, half the police in France will be after you for murder."

"I know it, I tell you," Roger insisted. "But I see no other chance of preserving Athenais from the lust of this abominable quadroon."

"Maybe," the Abbé countered. "But I am by no means' convinced as yet that you are justified in throwing away your life on that account. I beg you to consider the facts coolly and to view them in their proper perspective. I cannot believe that Mademoiselle de Rochambeau is either better or worse than most other young women of our aristocracy. They emerge from childhood knowing nothing of men, and so develop romantic ideas about them. Those who are wise do not expect to find romance with their husband, since they know beforehand that he will be some stranger selected for them by their family; but they endeavour to make of him a friend. Once married, society permits them to take as many lovers as they wish, and the husband who seeks to thwart them in that succeeds only in making himself the laughing-stock of his acquaintances.

"Should your beautiful Athenais become the Countess de Caylus she will, within a month, have half a hundred attractive men pleading with her to give them a. rendezvous; and she would be a freak of nature should she refuse them all. Surely you see that by this marriage taking place you have nothing to lose and everything to gain? In all our lives there come at times unpleasant passages which we are called upon to face. Persuade the girl to put a brave front on her honeymoon. M. de Caylus is far too hardened a roue not to tire of a young and inexperienced bedfellow very quickly. Before October is out she'll be free to console herself with you, and you will have one of the loveliest women in Paris as your mistress. Is that not a better prospect than for her to be immured in a convent, and you to be lying headless in a felon's grave?"

Roger could not know that it was the future Arch-Chancellor of a new French Empire, the bounds of which would spread from the Baltic to the southernmost tip of Italy, and the greatest diplomat of his century, who was exercising all his persuasive arts upon him; but he did know that his friend, the Abbé de Talleyrand-Perigord had given a fair and not overdrawn picture of French society in the age in which they were living. All that the Abbé said was true, plausible and, if his advice was accepted, almost inevitable. Yet Roger could not reconcile himself to it.

"No, Abbey' he said quietly, "I know that you have reason on your side; but there is no evading the fact that neither Athenais nor I will accept a continuance of our love upon such terms."

De Perigord regarded him with a smile in which there was no longer any trace of cynicism. "You are mad, of course," he murmured thoughtfully. "All Englishmen are mad, and that, no doubt, accounts for it; but I confess to having a sneaking admiration for your madness. So be it, then. Since you are determined to throw away your life and seek my aid in doing so, I will, however reluctantly, give it you. When and where do you propose to make this suicidal attempt on M. de Caylus?"

"There again, I must crave your help," replied Roger. "I am poorly situated to ascertain his movements, whereas you, owing to your frequent visits to Versailles, should have no great difficulty in finding out when he will next make a journey thence after dark to Paris. But the marriage contract is to be signed in nine days' time, so it is a matter of some urgency."

For a moment the Abbé remained thoughtful, then he said: "De Caylus has a petit maison in the Bois de Meudon. 'Tis there that he disports himself with any courtesan to whom he takes a fancy. You may recall my mentioning Olympe, the little Opera girl on whose account he attempted to avenge himself on me last summer. When we had wearied of one another she was tempted back to him by his money, and they still meet with some frequency. Olympe and I have remained good friends and she should be able to tell me when de Caylus will next be passing a night at Meudon."

"I will hold myself in readiness," Roger volunteered, "and be prepared to join you at any time. I only pray that it may be soon."

The Abbé nodded. "I realise the urgency. And while I feel that a meeting on the road 'twixt Versailles and Meudon offers the best prospect of being undisturbed, should that not prove possible I will find out where else de Caylus may be met with on the road at night, before the week is out. Owing to my lameness I must go to the place by coach, but 'tis essential that you should be mounted, and mounted well; since your life will depend on the speed with which you can get away from the vicinity once the affair is over. The best plan, I think, would be for me to send you a simple message giving only the time and place where you are to rendezvous with me. We will then go on in company for the last mile or so, to select a suitable spot at which to hold up de Caylus's coach."

These details having been settled, Roger endeavoured to express his gratitude; but the Abbé waved aside his thanks, yawned once more and said:

"Think nothing of it. 'Tis you who elect to surround your pleasures with so dramatic and dangerous an aura. For myself, I doubt if even a female archangel could woo roe into deliberately courting death on her behalf. 'Tis such a marvellous day and hour in which to live. It will not last, alas! Night and darkness are almost upon us. The starving pack is already stirring in its noisome kennels, and within a year or two will, I doubt not, have torn many of us limb from limb. As for those who come after, none will know what the sweetness of life can be who have not lived in Paris before the Revolution."

"Apres nous le deluge, eh?" Roger smiled.

De Perigord stood up and drew his shot-silk gown about him. "It profits one little to swim against the tide, so a wise man swims with it. Now, if you will forgive me, I must make myself presentable to receive those foolish friends of mine, who cannot let well alone; and, instead of rejoicing in all the good things that God has sent them, must ever be striving to bring about some new order of society, which will inevitably put a halter about their own necks."

"He who is forewarned is forearmed," suggested Roger. "I have a feeling that, whatever may befall you, you will find some way to survive it."

Napoleon's future Arch-Chancellor laid a hand upon his shoulder. "May your kind prophecy be true; and, with more immediate cause, I hope the same for you." Upon which, they parted.

That night Roger started putting his affairs in order. He wrote three letters and made a will. The first letter was a very brief one to his father asking forgiveness for the disappointment he had caused him; the second a somewhat longer one to his mother telling her some­thing of his love affair and the circumstances which made it imperative that he should risk his life; the third, a very long one to Georgina, saying that he felt sure that his previous letter to her must have gone astray, and giving a vivid picture, without reservations, of his four years in France. In his will he left his money to his mother, his sword to M. de la Tour d'Auvergne, his books to the Abbé de Perigord, and his clothes to Chenou.

The following evening he went round to see de la Tour d'Auvergne, explained what he planned to do and gave him the four documents, all contained in one large covering envelope, asking that he would deal with them should de Caylus emerge the victor by delivering a mortal thrust.

The Vicomte listened gravely till Roger had finished, then he said: "I honour you .greatly for the risk you are about to take. De Caylus is a terrible antagonist and, even if fortune favours you, should you be caught you will certainly be tried for murder."

"I hope to escape that," Roger replied, and went on to explain. "If all goes well only Athenais, de Perigord and yourself will ever know who killed the Count. I shall return at once to the Hotel de Rochambeau and resume my normal activities there next day. There is no reason whatever why anyone should suspect me of the killing. In fact, 'tis of paramount importance that they should not, myself apart, on account of Athenais."

"I see your thought," the Vicomte nodded. "If it becomes known that 'twas you who fought on Athenais's behalf, 'twill be said that you have been having an affair with her. As an unmarried girl she will be, completely ruined and her father is certain to force her to take the veil as the only way of restoring the family honour. But think you de Perigord will be able to induce de Caylus to fight without knowing who it is that sends the challenge?"

"Oh, surely! The Count at least does not lack for courage, and has fought many times. He must by now have superb confidence in his ability to hold his own against any man; so I cannot think for one moment that he would refuse a challenge, once he is assured that it comes from a person whose birth entitles him to send it."

" 'Twill, all the same, be a most unusual meeting; and lest some unforeseen circumstances arise I would fain accompany you to it, to be on hand if needed."

"Nay," protested Roger, "I thank you mightily. But I have no wish to involve you. Besides, you are not yet fully recovered from your wound."

"I am not yet mended to the point of wielding a sword, but I have been riding again recently. You will need someone to hold your horse, and the Abbd being a priest 'tis but right that he should leave the scene as soon as he has assured de Caylus that his challenger is one who has the right to bear arms. Moreover, the Count is much more likely to accept your challenge if he is informed that someone of my status is present to see fair play."

"All that you say is true," Roger admitted, "and I dare take no chances; so I accept your offer gratefully. As soon as I hear from de Perigord about a rendezvous I will let you know it, and when the time comes we will ride thither together."

The following two days, Thursday and Friday, Roger spent both his mornings and evenings at a fencing-school he had occasionally frequented, which lay just off the Holies. It was largely a resort of soldiers of fortune, and on each occasion he offered two louis to anyone who could best him. Out of ten bouts he lost only three, and two of those were at the end of evening sessions when his wrist was tired, so he felt that he would at least be able to make the redoubtable de Caylus work very hard to obtain a victory.

On the Friday evening he received a brief note from the Abbé, which ran:'

"Your man plans to spend Monday night at Meudon with Olympe. His habit on such occasions is to leave Versailles about eight o'clock; but to be on the safe side I will be waiting for you at half-past seven, a half-mile beyond Sevres on the Sevres-Chaville road."

On Saturday morning Roger duly informed de la Tour d'Auvergne of the rendezvous, and got in three more fencing-bouts. Then, at six o'clock, he kept his appointment with Athenais.

When he told her his intentions she begged him not to expose himself and said that she would rather take the veil than have him risk his life for her sake. On his proving adamant she declared that she would go straight downstairs and defy her father, and thus render Roger's desperate scheme futile.

"My angel," he said tenderly, "I cannot stop you, but 'twould then be your act which would be futile. Having accepted the help of Monsieurs de Perigord and de la Tour d'Auvergne I cannot now draw back, or they would look upon me as a coward. I beg you not to plead further with me for, whatever you may do, I am now determined to fight de Caylus and kill him if I can."

Plead she did, but without avail; and this, which they knew might be their last meeting, ended by her giving him her kerchief, to wear as her champion, and promising to refrain from burning her boats until Tuesday, the day before the wedding, by which time she would know whether her fiancé or her lover had proved the victor.

It was later that evening that M. de Rochambeau said to Roger: "Although 'tis Sunday to-morrow I intend to hold a conference. M. de Rayneval has returned in secret from the United Provinces and affairs there have now reached a point at which important decisions must be taken without further delay. During the past few months, M. de Montmorin seems to have caught His Majesty's congenital complaint of indecision; but I will have him shilly-shally with us no longer. He is coming here at four o'clock and my friends and I intend to put our views before him in no uncertain manner. We shall be fifteen, all told, so have the conference table prepared and hold yourself in readiness. I wish you to be present in the room to take note of the various viewpoints that may be expressed, and to draft a document which I plan that M. de Rayneval should take back with him."

On numerous previous occasions Roger had attended such con­ferences for a similar purpose and, apart from the fact that this one was to be somewhat larger than usual, there was no reason to suppose that anything of exceptional interest would transpire at it. Having accepted the Marquis's orders with his habitual quiet deference, he was so wrapped up in his own affairs that he thought no more of it till the following afternoon.

Shortly before four o'clock, M. de Rochambeau's usual collaborators, Messieurs de Breteuil, de Polignac, de Castries and de Segur arrived with others who were less frequent visitors; the Due de Normandie, who was governor to the Dauphin, the famous Admiral de Suffren, France's greatest sailor, M. Berard, the head of the French East India Company, the Due de Lauzun and the Marquis de Vaudreuil, both close friends of the Queen, the Due de Chatelet, who had recently been replaced as Ambassador to the Court of St. James's by the Comte d'Adhemar, the Due de Coigny, the Master of the Royal Horse, and one man that Roger did not know. The party was completed by de Montmorin and de Rayneval.

When they had all seated themselves round the big oval table Roger sat down at a small one near the door, and M. de Rochambeau opened the proceedings.

"Monsieur le Ministre," he said, addressing himself to the Comte de Montmorin, "My friends and I have asked you to meet us here to-day in order that we may put before you the state of affairs in the United Provinces and propose to you certain actions which we recom­mend in regard to them. M. de Rayneval, very rightly in my view, has taken the exceptional step of returning thence, without being recalled by you, to urge upon us that further procrastination may lose us all that we have been working to achieve for many months past. With him he has brought our distinguished soldier, M. le Comte de Maillebois, whom the Dutch Republican leaders themselves chose to command their free-corps in the event of civil war. It would be best, I think, if these two gentlemen now gave us their first-hand information on the situation that so closely concerns us all."

M. de Rayneval spoke first, and for about twenty minutes gave a dissertation on the attitude of Mynheer Van Berkel, the leader of the Republicans in Amsterdam, and on that of the Pensionaries of the other principal Dutch cities; from which it was clear that the great majority of them were only awaiting a firm promise of French support, in the event of intervention by Prussia, to join in a concerted uprising against the Stadtholder.

Roger listened with only half an ear. His mind was full of lunges, ripostes and foot-movements, and he now knew this old story back­wards. Since France could not possibly afford a war he was convinced that no such promise would be forthcoming; and that while this powerful group of French Imperialists would continue to egg the Dutch Republicans on in secret they would never dare to commit themselves to any step which might lead to a European conflict.

The Comte de Maillebois then took up the tale. He was the one member of the conference whom Roger had not known by sight, and as he began to give facts and figures about the volunteer Republican bands in various cities, Roger listened to him with somewhat more interest. The Count concluded his remarks by expressing the opinion that, while, as a professional soldier, he found the Dutch burghers somewhat poor material, they were sufficiently numerous and keen for him to state with confidence that he could hold the northern frontiers with them against the Prussians until a French army could be marched across the country to his assistance.

The Marquis then called in turn on the Minister of War and the Minister of Marine.

The old Marshal de Segur said that, as they all knew, the flower of the French regular army was already assembled in Flanders, under the command of that most brilliant soldier, the Marquis's brother, M. le Comte de Rochambeau. The word had only to be given for it to be set in motion and, with the aid of the free-corps controlled by M. de Maillebois, all the strong places of the United Provinces would be in French hands within a fortnight.

The Marshal de Castries added that the Fleet was in a state of instant readiness and, with the aid of the insurgents, could take possession of the Dutch ports within a week.

Roger still saw no cause for alarm, and he wondered vaguely why this group of war-mongers bothered to waste their time discussing what they could do in certain eventualities, when they all knew perfectly well that these vast preparations were no more than a game of bluff, and that in actual fact they dared not move a single man or ship.

The Marquis was now speaking again... and so you see. Monsieur le Ministre, the stage is set. 'Twas from a man whose politics and private life I deplore, but for whose brain I have a very great respect, that, a little over a year ago, I first had the idea of forming this secret army within the very walls of the cities of a foreign state, and...."

Roger suppressed a start. M. de Rochambeau could only be referring to the Abbé de Perigord, and the conversation between them that he had overheard while standing in the secret closet. For a moment he was so shaken that he did not catch the next few sentences. It was clear now as the sun in a summer sky that the Marquis had adopted the Abbé's subtle scheme and all these months been steadily proceeding with it. Roger recalled the instructions for arms to be smuggled in, the great payment of gold to the Dutch Ambassadors, and a hundred details, all of which had remained unconnected in his mind at the time but now fell into place. He was intensely angry to think that M. de Rochambeau should have fooled him so completely, then followed swift humiliation at the thought that, since the Marquis had concealed nothing from him but the central fact, it was he who had been utterly blind and fooled himself.

"... and therefore," the Marquis was going on, "we must not, any longer, regard the Dutch free-corps as groups of political insurgents activated only by a desire to secure certain liberties for themselves. Doubtless they still consider themselves in that light; but, in actual fact, they are now part of the French army; a French Foreign Legion working under French direction who, at our command, will seize the United Provinces and render them, in all but name, a part of France herself."

" 'Twas a stroke of genius," declared de Castries enthusiastically. "The Dutch ports will fall into our hands like ripe plums."

"And the rich trade in the Dutch Indies," added de Coigny.

M. Berard hit the table. "With France in control of the Dutch settlements at the Cape of Good Hope, I vow we'd drive the British India Company into bankruptcy within three years."

"Come, Monsieur le Ministre," urged de Breteuil, "you have but to sign a letter for M. de Rayneval to take back with him, and the thing is as good as done."

M. de Montmorin shook his head. "The King, gentlemen, must first agree to this; and I will confess that I have not yet consulted His Majesty upon it. I dare not give such a pledge to our Dutch friends without his assent, or at least that of the Archbishop of Toulouse."

"The Kingl" exclaimed de Polignac, with contempt. " 'Twould be fatal to bring him into the business, for he'd not have the resolution to say yea or nay this side of the grave. 'Twas only the other day that Monsieur, his brother, said of him, 'When you can keep a number of oiled ivory billiard balls together in your hand, you may then do something with the King.' And 'twas a fair assessment."

"Then the Archbishop must be asked to decide for him," replied de Montmorin firmly. "It will, I fear, come as a shock to you, but as from this evening, His Grace of Toulouse is to formally assume the ro1e of Prime Minister. His Majesty informed me personally of this new decision of his at noon to-day."

De Montmorin's announcement caused an extraordinary sensation and was met by a chorus of exclamations.

"Then we're to return to the old days of Prime Ministers, eh?"

"I knew he had gained the King's ear, but hardly suspected this!"

"God save us all if that ambitious prelate is to rule the roost!"

" 'Tis the height of folly to place supreme power in the hands of so vain and fickle a man at such a time as this!"

"I'll not submit to it," declared de Castries angrily. "I have not built up our Navy only to act as the agent of its destruction on the orders of so incompetent a master; I shall resign."

"I, too, shall return my portfolio to His Majesty," de Segur announced. I am too old now to begin transacting my business with the King through any third party."

"Monsieurs, Monsieurs!" The Marquis raised his voice to quell the tumult. "I beg you to take no rash action for the moment. Even in the face of such a sudden and ill-advised decision on the part of the King, I pray that you will place the interests of the country before your own. I ask you for no more than a fortnight. De Rayneval and de Maillebois inform me that, given this letter pledging French support, the Dutch Republicans have already agreed to launch their coup d’etat against the Stadtholder on the 10th of September. Should you resign before that date our whole plan will be placed in jeopardy. I most earnestly entreat you to retain your Portfolios till then, whatever you may decide to do afterwards."

De Breteuil, De Polignac and De Coigny strongly supported M. de Rochambeau and, after a brief discussion, the other Ministers agreed to do as he asked. De Montmorin then said:

"I regret the concern that my news has caused you, Monsieurs; but I had to make my own position clear. The whole issue must be placed before the Archbishop. If he consents I will do my part as Foreign Minister willingly enough, but not unless."

Roger relaxed again. All was in the melting-pot once more, and, as usual, no definite action would be taken. Besides, he reasoned, even if the Dutch free-corps, having seized power, were fools enough to hand their country over to French domination, that would not stop the Prussians attempting the Stadtholder's restoration; and that meant war, which these sabre-rattlers were not prepared to stomach.

At that very moment M. de Montmorin voiced his thoughts with the words: "Even if M. de Rochambeau's contention is correct and, with the aid of his secret columns, we could seize the country virtually overnight, that is no guarantee that the Prussians and the English will not combine against us in an attempt to restore the Stadtholder; and, if they do, a European conflict is inevitable."

"What if it is?" to Roger's utter amazement, cried the Marquis. "Are you so blind as not to see that violent external action of some kind is now our only hope of saving France from internal collapse and chaos. The country is bankrupt, starving, finished as a great power, and on the verge of revolution. One chance alone remains for us to save the monarchy and save ourselves. The attention of the public must be diverted from the state of affairs at home to great events in which France will triumph outside her frontiers. The possibility of pulling off this coup against the United Provinces is a gift from God in our dire extremity. Should it succeed with little bloodshed, so much the better. Within a few months the vast riches of the Dutch will be diverted to fill our lamentably empty coffers. Should a general conflict ensue we shall enter it with an enormous advantage; since the Dutch ports will already be in our possession and we shall hold them as a pistol pointing at England's breast. Spain, Austria, the Netherlands, Sweden and Russia would all ally themselves with us against Prussia and England; and how could our enemies hope to prevail against such a combination? But 'tis my opinion that they will not dare to fight at all, provided only that we seize the United Provinces before they appreciate what's toward, and so present them with a fait accompli."

"I'd not count upon the English standing down," demurred the Due de Chatelet. "During my time at the Court of St. James's I formed the impression that Mr. Pitt was most anxious to maintain the peace and so put no further drain upon the nation's resources while it is still recovering from the strain of the late wars. Yet he struck me as a young man who will ever stand by his late father's principles and draw the sword, however tattered be the scabbard, should he consider any move in Europe to threaten Britain's security."

"I fear that, too," agreed M. de Montmorin. "And what could be a more flagrant challenge to Britain than this proposed seizure of the Dutch ports?"

" 'Tis a challenge that must be thrown down sooner or later," M. de Rochambeau declared, "and, to my mind, seeing our present overriding need to restore our manufacturers to prosperity, the sooner the better. All of you know how strenuously I fought against the Treaty of Commerce that was signed with Britain a year ago. In that I was bested by M. de Vergennes, and what is the result? To-day twenty-five thousand workmen stand idle in our good city of Rouen alone, owing to the markets having been flooded by cheap Manchester goods."

"Aye, and 'tis the same over half the kingdom," the Due de Normandie supported him. "Half the factories in Amiens have been forced to close down, and in Nantes scarce a week passes now without half a dozen of our honest merchants going bankrupt as a result of British competition."

Admiral de Suffren leaned forward. "And 'tis on the success of the shipping ventures of the Nantes merchants, and their like, in peace, that we rely for our best reserves to man the fleet in time of war. Let us tackle the English before they can do us further damage. They are not invincible. I have fought them, and I know."

The Admiral's declaration met with almost universal applause and Roger found himself having to entirely readjust his views. It was plain now that these men really wanted war and meant to force the issue to ensure it if they possibly could. M. de Rochambeau's statement had put a completely different complexion on the whole question. Whereas it had previously seemed that France could not fight because she was bankrupt, that now appeared to be the best possible reason for her doing so.

During a further hour every one of them said his piece, and they were unanimous in their opinion that to take advantage of the present situation in the United Provinces, through the secret army that M. de Rochambeau had so skilfully built up there, offered France her only chance of escape from the internal troubles that menaced her.

M. de Montmorin was brought round to agree with them; but he stood firm on his declaration that he could not take the responsibility for committing the country himself, and that the new Prime Minister must be consulted before any written pledge could be transmitted to the Dutch Republicans.

Pressed by the others for an early decision, and now seized with the urgency of the matter himself, he proposed that another meeting should be held the following night at ten o'clock, and promised to bring the Archbishop with him to attend it.

When they had gone Roger was left with his brain in a whirl. During a single conference every theory he had held for the past twelve months on French foreign policy had been smashed to atoms. Nothing was certain yet. Everything still hung on whether the Arch­bishop would fall a victim to this wave of war fever, on the following night. But if he did it now seemed that war was inevitable; and the French nobles who had gathered there planned a new type of war— a lightning war, unannounced by any ultimatum. Britain and Prussia would be caught off their guard and, before they had time to act, the Dutch ports and strong places would all have been taken by the enemy from within.

Roger knew that the time had now arrived, which had already been envisaged by cleverer people than himself, when no penned account of the situation as he saw it would serve to furnish those who were responsible for his country's safety with a full picture of the enemy's intentions. He must go home and report in person; in order that, in addition to giving his own version of the crisis, he might be questioned and knowledge which he possessed be extracted from him, on points that he might consider of little moment but those who had a broader vision of affairs might consider vital.

On thinking matters over further he realised that if the Archbishop said "No" on the following night there would be no point in hastening to London, since the situation would remain, for the time being at least, unaltered. On the other hand, if he said "Yes" the news must be carried with the utmost speed to Downing Street. Therefore it was imperative that he should be present at the conference that had been arranged to take place an hour or so after the time fixed for his duel.

For a while he even considered if he was not called upon to abandon the duel; but that he could not bring himself to do. He squared his conscience by sitting down and writing a letter to Mr. Gilbert Maxwell in which he divulged the Marquis's whole plot, and added that while no definite decision had been taken as yet, he felt that every possible precautionary measure against the French seizing the United Provinces by surprise should be adopted forthwith.

Another point that exercised him greatly was how, should he emerge successfully from his duel, and the need arose, could he suddenly disappear without leading the de Rochambeau household to suspect that his flight had some connection with the killing of de Caylus.

After deep thought he decided that the best measure would be to give out that he had just heard that his mother was dangerously ill, and that he had decided to leave on the Tuesday morning for Strasbourg. Athenais and de Perigord were still the only people who knew that he was an Englishman, and neither of them could possibly connect his departure with the reason that would lay behind it. M. de la Tour d'Auvergne knew only that he was of gentle birth, and again, knew nothing of what had passed at the recent conference. M. de Rochambeau still believed him to be of German extraction but a loyal Frenchman. He could not refuse to let him go to his mother's death-bed and would have no reason to connect his request for immediate leave of absence with de Caylus's death.

If, after all, on the Monday night the Archbishop of Toulouse vetoed M. de Rochambeau's plan, Roger saw that he could always let himself out from having to leave Paris precipitately by saying that he had thought better of it, and had decided to remain until he heard further news of his mother's condition.

On the Monday morning he went to see de la Tour d'Auvergne, and told his story. He also gave him the letter for Mr. Gilbert Maxwell, but in a double envelope concealing its address, and with instructions that the outer one was only to be opened and the inner dispatched in the event of his death.

He hated having to deceive this honest and upright friend, and had already felt many qualms about leaving him to suppose that, as M. de Rochambeau's secretary, he had never ventured to express to Athenais the love he felt for her or given him any indication that she returned that love with equal fervour. But, in the latter case, Athenais's honour was concerned and, in the former, Roger felt that he was serving the true interests of France as much as of Britain by taking such steps as he could to prevent a war breaking out.

When he got back to the Hotel he told both Paintendre and Monsieur Roland his story about his mother being seriously ill and, by good luck, he ran into Madame Marie-Ange on the first landing so he told her too, feeling confident that by this channel the story would reach Athenais.

That afternoon the Marquis Went out, and did not require his services; so he went up to his room and, after a little, slept. At six o'clock, having washed and tidied himself as carefully as though he was going to be presented to the King, he took his sword from its place on the wall. Then, very slowly but resolutely, he walked downstairs; conscious with every step he took that it now lay on the knees of the gods, as to if he would ever walk down a flight of stairs again.

CHAPTER XXII

DESPERATE MEASURES

ROGER found de la Tour d'Auvergne waiting for him in the Rue de Richelieu. They greeted one another gravely but both endeavoured to act as if their meeting was occasioned only by an arrangement to ride out together to sup with some mutual friend in the suburbs. As they turned their horses into the Rue des Pettis Champs the Vicomte remarked casually that they were in luck to have such a pleasant evening, and Roger replied that he hoped the dry spell would continue.

They had some eight miles to go, but ample time before them, so they walked their horses a good part of the way, only cantering now and again when they reached the grassy glades of the Bois de Boulogne. Having crossed the river at St. Cloud they turned south towards Sevres and, as they approached the village, Roger took the opportunity to refer again to his fiction about his mother's illness.

"I am still somewhat undecided," he said, "whether to leave Paris to-morrow morning or wait until I receive further news of my mother. On re-reading her letter I think that I at first alarmed myself over­much; yet I would never forgive myself if she died without my having received her blessing."

"In your place I should decide nothing until you have slept upon it," replied the Vicomte. "Your mind will be clearer after to-night's business is settled."

Roger's nerves were very taut, and he repressed an hysterical impulse to laugh at his friend's apt choice of expression. The Vicomte referred, of course, to the duel, but "to-night's business" applied even better to the conference that M. de Rochambeau was to hold at ten o'clock; and whether Roger, if he was still alive, stayed on in Paris or left next day as soon as he had made his excuses to the Marquis, depended on the all-important decision that the Archbishop of Toulouse would be called upon to take that night. However, the Vicomte's advice was on the exact lines that Roger had hoped he would offer, so he accepted it readily.

Half a mile south of Sevres, on the northern outskirts of Bois de Meudon, they came upon the Abbé's coach, drawn up by the side of the road. As they approached it Roger put on his mask, so that the coachman should, not afterwards be able to identify him; then, when they were within a hundred yards, they reined in; the Vicomte took Roger's horse, and he went forward on foot to greet de Perigord.

On reaching the coach, Roger saw that the Abbé was not alone; a short, fat man with a thick bandage over his eyes was leaning back beside him. The Abbe put his finger to his hps to enjoin silence, then got out and, taking Roger's arm, limped along with him, back towards the Vicomte.

"I see you have, after all, brought a friend," remarked de Perigord, as soon as they were out of earshot of the coach.

" 'Tis M. de la, Tour d'Auvergne," Roger replied. "When I told him what was toward he insisted on accompanying me, to give his assistance should any unforeseen circumstance arise. But I see that you, too, are accompanied."

The Abbé nodded. "My companion is a doctor. His presence will not make it any the less a matter of murder, if you kill de Caylus, but 'twill at least give the meeting more the appearance of an affair of honour, and less that of a ruffianly attack. I have also brought with me two duelling swords from which M. le Comte can choose his length, in the event of his having only a Court sword with him."

"You think of everything," said Roger gratefully; and when the Abbé and the Vicomte had saluted each other, he added: "There is only one thing now which troubles me, and that gravely. 'Tis unavoid­able that de Caylus and his servants will recognise you both. Should his death result from the encounter I fear you may be dragged into the matter as accomplice of his unknown killer. I therefore desire that immediately the Count alights you should both leave us, in order that you may not be witnesses to the actual affray."

" 'Tis not necessary," declared the Abb£. "I propose that after­wards we should say we accompanied you only for the purpose of enabling you to arrange a meeting with the Count at some other time and place. 'Twas not our fault that you lost your tempers there and then, and once the fight was on there was naught we could do to stop it."

The Vicomte nodded. " 'Tis an admirable explanation to save us from considerable embarrassment."

"Aye, 'tis excellent," Roger agreed. "But there is yet one more fence. An inquiry is certain to be held. Will the Court not press you both to name the masked man for whom you acted? And 'tis as important for Mademoiselle de Rochambeau's sake as for my own that my identity should remain a secret."

"I, too, had thought of that," de Perigord smiled. "If M. de la Tour d'Auvergne is willing I suggest that we should refuse to speak. We are both nobles, so even the King himself cannot give an order for us to be put to the question. But to indicate a reason for our silence we will give the impression that de Caylus's antagonist was a man of such rank that the maintenance of secrecy is imperative to prevent a scandal. We might even infer that it was one of the younger Princes of the Blood, since if the Court thinks that it will at once do its best to hush the matter up."

"You relieve me greatly," said Roger with a sigh. "As for myself, since seeing you last, Abbé, I have received news that my mother is seriously ill, so I may be leaving Paris on that account to-morrow; but I have not made up my mind as yet whether her case is so bad as to warrant my immediate departure. If, having slept upon it, I decide to go, I may have no further opportunity of thanking you for all you have done for me, so I do so now with all my heart."

De Perigord bowed. "I shall regret it if you leave, but I trust that you will write to me in your absence, and soon return to resume a friendship which has given me great pleasure. And now, I think the time has come when we should take up our position on the road that leads to de Caylus's petite maison. I will drive on and the two of you can follow my coach at some little distance."

That evening light gave the early autumn tints of the trees a special loveliness as they proceeded at a gentle trot towards the little village of Chaville, but half a mile before reaching it the coach turned off, entering a forest track that led south-eastwards. Three-quarters of a mile along it they came to an open grassy space, in which there was a crossroad. Here the party halted, the coach drawing up where the two roads met while Roger and the Vicomte remained some way away, edging their horses in among the trees so that they should not be seen by anyone approaching. The Abbé got out of his coach and stood by the roadside, as though in some difficulty and waiting to ask assistance of the next passer-by. Under his arm he carried a lengthy package that looked like a roll of silk, and Roger guessed that the two duelling-swords must be concealed within it.

It was very silent in the forest; only the occasional call of a bird, or a scurry in the undergrowth broke the stillness, and the time of waiting seemed interminable. Roger's thoughts were a confused jumble; Athenais; the fencing-bouts that he had had in the past few days; his boyhood's home at Lymington; the meeting that M. de Rochambeau was to hold that night; his long-past, drunken, midnight brawl with the Chevalier de Roubec; all drifted and mingled in his agitated mind.

At last there came the drumming of horses' hooves from the track to the west of the clearing. Roger craned forward across his horse's neck, straining with impatience to know if it was actually his enemy's coach approaching, or that of some other wayfarer. Suddenly, between the trees, he glimpsed the vehicle; it was a six-horse coach and the postilion was wearing the Comte de Caylus's green and gold livery.

The Abbé stepped forward into the road and waved has package; the coach rumbled to a halt. What happened next Roger and the Vicomte could not see, as de Perigord was on the far side of the coach and the light was no longer strong enough for them to see through its windows at that distance.

To Roger the next three minutes seemed an eternity. Then the Abbé emerged from behind the coach and came limping quickly towards them. He was only half way across the glade when the coach started into motion. Roger and de la Tour d'Auvergne broke cover and cantered out to meet de Perigord.

"'Tis of no use!" cried the Abbé. "I vowed that you were a person of consequence and would reveal yourself if he would step apart—out of sight of his servants. I told him that M. de la Tour d'Auvergne would see fair play, and that we had a doctor with us; but he was adamant. He says he will not fight, were you the King himself."

De Perigord's coach blocked the way, so de Caylus's coachman had had to urge his horses up on to the grass in order to drive round it, but he was now clear of the other coach and back on the road again beyond it.

Roger cast a reproachful glance at the Abbé. He had banked everything on that subtle tongue of his, which could be either so silver or envenomed at will, taunting de Caylus into accepting the challenge. It now flashed into his mind that de Perigord had, in an endeavour to save him from himself, played a game with him. From the beginning the Abbé" had made it so clear that he did not consider it worth risking death to save a girl from being married, just because she did not like her father's choice of husband for her. It must be that, all along, he had intended to deliver the challenge in a manner which would enable it to be refused without loss of face.

Swift as lightning the Abbé* saw his thought, and waved it aside. "Ton my honour I did my best for you. I even flung down the swords at his feet, and they are there stilL"

De Caylus's coachman had now got his horses into a fast trot, and the coach was just disappearing among the trees that fringed the track leading to the eastwards.

Suddenly de la Tour d'Auvergne urged his horse forward in pursuit, with a cry of: "Quick! Follow me! We'll have him yet!"

"Thanks, Abbey cried Roger and, turning his mount, he galloped after the Vicomte.

The coach was only a few hundred yards ahead of them but, at the sound of their horses' hooves thundering on the turf, the two footmen riding on the boot turned and saw that they were pursued. There was, too, still sufficient light for them to see that one of their pursuers was masked. Instantly, they began to shout to the coachman and postilion:

"Allez! Allez! We are attacked by highwaymen!" And from a canter the six fine horses were lashed into a gallop.

The horsemen had an easy advantage over the heavy, bounding coach and within a couple of minutes were close upon it; but, during them, the two footmen had each pulled a wide-mouthed blunderbuss from under his seat and were endeavouring to take aim with their clumsy weapons.

Roger's heart sank. It seemed near impossible to ride past the coach and bring it to a halt without receiving some of the scattered fusillade of shot that threatened. But, de la Tour d'Auvergne wrenched a pistol from his holster, cocked it, and fired at the man upon the left. The bullet caught him in the shoulder. With a cry, he dropped his blunderbuss.

The other man fired but, at that instant, the coach jolted over a big stone, and the charge of small shot whistled over Roger's head.

Despite the shooting and the shouting, the coachman, now crouching low over his box, flogged his team on. Yet in another minute the two horsemen had drawn level with him, one on each side of the coach.

Pulling his second pistol from its holster the Vicomte thrust it at him and yelled: "Halt, fellow! Halt! Or your life will answer for it!"

The coachman had done his best and, with a shout to the postilion, reined in his horses. Still bumping and bounding the cumbersome vehicle lumbered to a stop.

Roger and de la Tour d'Auvergne rode on some twenty yards and came together again just in front of the steaming leaders.

"Give me your horse!" cried the Vicomte. "I will hold these people in play while you go forward with your intended business. May God guard you and make strong your arm!"

"I thank you!" gasped Roger, throwing over his reins and slipping to the ground. Suddenly he remembered that he was wearing spurs. Stooping he unbuckled them and slipped them into his pocket. By the time he reached the door of the coach the Comte de Caylus had it open and, one heavy hand on its window-sill, was leaning out, a scowl of anger on his dark, ugly features.

While taking off his spurs Roger had got back his breath. Having made a deep, formal bow he said: "Monsieur le Comte. I regret that circumstances preventme from sending my seconds to you, and offering you the choice of weapons, time and place; but 'tis imperative that we should fight—and now. I pray that you will descend and join me on the grass."

"S'bloodl Who are you?" demanded the Count, angrily. "And what is the meaning of this farce?"

"'Tis no farce!" replied Roger coldly. "As you soon will find; I trust to your cost. As to myself, M. l'Abbé de Perigord will have already told you that in crossing your sword with mine you will do it no dishonour. Immediately we are free of prying eyes I will unmask and answer all reasonable questions about myself. Come! The light is failing! Unless you would prefer to fight in semi-darkness, do not delay."

"I'll fight in neither light nor darkness, without a reason," growled de Caylus.

"I'll give you that, once we are apart. And 'tis one that you will answer to readily enough."

"Were I to do so 'twould mean your death, young jackanapes!"

"It suits me that your mind runs in that vein; since, let me warn you, I intend to kill you if I can!"

"You count this affront that I as yet know nothing of as mortal, then?"

"I do. I'll seek no quarter, neither will I give it."

For a moment it looked as if de Caylus was about to spring from the coach; but he kept his temper and evidently thought better of the impulse.

"No!" he exclaimed firmly, "I'll not be dragooned into fighting someone I do not know for something that I may not have done. At any other time I'd skewer you as full of holes as a larded capon, for your impudence; but to-night I have no mind for it." Upon which he suddenly sat back and slammed the door of the coach to in Roger's face.

Seizing the handle of the door Roger wrenched it open and, thrusting his head inside, cried: "Why not to-night as well as any other? You have not the reputation of a coward; since when have you become one?"

De Caylus laughed. "Call me a coward if you will. I care not! I'll not fight to-night, I tell you! In two days' time I am to be wed; and I'll not risk some chance thrust of yours marring my enjoyment of my young wife. After a month with her I'll be your man. If you've a wish to die seek me out again early in October, at any time and place you choose, and I'll cut you to ribbons before I kill you!"

"'Tis your projected marriage that offends me!" cried Roger rashly. "So you'll fight to-night, or I'll slay you where you sit!" And, leaning forward, he seized the Count by his lace jabot, giving a violent tug upon it.

While they had been shouting at one another Roger had been dimly aware that de Caylus was not alone in the coach. Another man occupied the seat opposite him; but Roger's eyes had been riveted on the Count's swarthy face and in the dim light of the interior of the coach the other man's features were obscure.

As Roger's fingers grasped the goffered lace that fell from de Caylus's neckband his vaguely seen companion suddenly thrust out a hand and snatched Roger's mask from his face.

"Ventre du Pape!" he shouted to de Caylus, as Roger's features were revealed. "I thought I knew that voice! 'Tis that upstart Breuc; my father's secretary! Your challenger is a fellow that Athenais picked up from the gutter!"

Releasing his hold upon the Count, Roger sprang back. But it was too late. The coachman, the postilion and the two footmen must all have heard the shout, so the damage was done, and nothing now could possibly prevent them realising the cause of this deadly quarrel. White with fury and dismay Roger glared into the haughty, handsome face of Count Lucien de Rochambeau.

"You crazy fool!" he burst out. "Since you suspected my identity had you not the sense to realise that its revelation would jeopardise your sister's honour?"

De Caylus was staring at Roger uncomprehendingly. "S'blood! What means all this?" he exclaimed, turning swiftly to Count Lucien. "I've seen this man in your father's office; but why in thunder should you link his name with that of Athehais?"

"The dog has been casting sheep's eyes at her since she was fourteen," snapped the young Count. "But he wormed his way into the household and my father remained blind to it. 'Twould now appear that he has the unbelievable impertinence to set himself up as your rival, and would try his hand at killing you to prevent your marriage."

"So that's the way of it," de Caylus growled. "When the Abbé said that de la Tour d'Auvergne was with my unknown challenger methought that having failed to kill me himself he had hired some bravo to attempt it."

"Your thought is worthy of you," cut in Roger. "But neither M. de la Tour d'Auvergne, nor any other true gentleman, would entertain it for a moment."

"And who are you, a dirty, ink-spilling scrivener, to judge what thoughts are becoming to a gentleman?" sneered Count Lucien.

"For that I'll fight you when I've finished with the Count!" flared Roger. " 'Twill be a chastisement long overdue. And I'd have you know that I am of as good a blood as you."

"I'll not believe it! You're naught but an adventurer!"

"Then you give the lie to M. l'Abbd de Perigord as well as to myself. He is acquainted with my uncle, the Earl of Kildonan. My real name is Brook, and my father a Rear-Admiral of the British fleet."

"I care not who you are!" stormed de Caylus. "I'll not now give any man satisfaction till I've possessed Athenais. Get hence!"

"And I'll not let you while I live," cried Roger, drawing his sword. "She's for a better man than the debauched grandson of a negro slave!"

De Caylus flushed under his sallow skin. Reaching a hand down to the floor he snatched up one of the swords that de Perigord had thrown in there, and bounded from the coach.

"That's better!" Roger exclaimed, stepping back. "Let's seek an even piece of ground and fight it out."

"I'll not honour you by even the semblance of a proper meeting," bellowed de Caylus, now pale with rage. "I'll kill you where you belong; here in this ditch."

As he spoke he lunged with all his force. Roger leapt sideways— only just in time. He had barely thrown himself on guard when the Count came at him again. To his terror he knew that he had allowed himself to be caught at a terrible disadvantage. A few feet behind him lay a low bank and ditch; if he gave way it was a certainty that he would catch his heel on the bank and go sprawling backwards.

Their blades met, held each other, parted and met again. Up—down. Up—down; at furious speed in clash after clash. De Caylus lunged again. Roger dared not retreat even by a pace. He let his knees go and ducked the thrust. The blade pierced his coat above the shoulder and seared like a hot iron across his skin.

He knew that the Count had drawn first blood, but that the wound was too slight to be of any consequence. For a moment the point of the sword remained caught in the cloth of his coat. Had he been better placed he might have seized the opportunity to stab upward at the Count; but he could not afford to risk it. Instead, before de Caylus had fully recovered, he leapt sideways and pivoted on his left heel. The success of the movement made him gasp with thankfulness. It had brought them round, so that when their swords met again his back was no longer to the ditch; he was facing towards the horses and his adversary towards the back of the coach.

De Caylus was still fighting all out, and Roger knew now what he was up against. The strength exerted against his own blade was so terrific that, every instant, he expected to have it forced down or struck from his hand. He now had enough space between the coach and the ditch to retreat, and he only saved himself from the fierce onslaught by giving back slowly, step by step, as each furious thrust was launched to kill him.

Suddenly he heard de la Tour d'Auvergne's voice, raised in a shout. "Beware! Behind you! Oh, Morte de Dieu!"

The Vicomte, still mounted and at the head of the coach-team, was watching the fight with terrible apprehension. From his point of vantage he had suddenly seen something that the two combatants, their eyes fixed upon one another, seeking to divine in them each coming move, had not.

Count Lucien had picked up the other sword from the floor of the coach, slipped out of its far door and come round its back behind Roger.

Aghast with amazement and dread de la Tour d'Auvergne had grasped the fact that the unscrupulous young man, evidently regarding the affray as no ordinary duel but an armed assault, was just about to stab Roger through the back.

The shout put both antagonists off their stroke, and both, involun­tarily sprang away from one another to throw a swift glance over their shoulders. De Caylus, seeing nothing, swung back and came charging in again. Roger, finding himself half facing Count Lucien, realised his mortal peril and whipped right round to ward off his new antagonist's first lunge.

He had barely done so when he heard the swift slither of de Caylus's feet behind him. He knew then that he was done. De Caylus alone was a match for any man in France, and the blade, even of a military cadet rising eighteen, added to his was more than any champion could have tackled.

In a wild attempt to save himself Roger abandoned all rules of fence. Pivoting on his right foot he scythed with his sword sideways. Hissing through the air it whipped past Count Lucien's eyes like a lash and, ending in a full half-circle, caused de Caylus to jerk back his head just as he delivered his thrust. Swivelling again, with one swift stroke Roger smashed down Count Lucien's sword, then did a thing he had never dreamed that he would have to do as a result of issuing a challenge. Springing past Count Lucien, he took to his heels and ran.

Instantly, with wild shouts of triumph, the two of them were after, him.

"Let me have him," yelled the young Count. "This scullion should wield a spit and not a sword. I'll teach him to play the highwayman and waylay a coach."

"Leave him to me, boy!" bellowed de Caylus. "He is my affair!"

As Roger fled down the road he was conscious that his face was scarlet. His whole body was aflame with shame, and with it was mingled fear. The back of his scalp prickled. At every step he took he expected to feel a sword pierce his back and sear through his lungs. The thought of the disgrace of being killed in such a way, and, above all, with de la Tour d'Auvergne looking on, was utterly unbearable. Yet he knew that if he faltered for a second, even before he could swing about and throw himself again on guard, he would, within a minute, be choking out his life's blood.

Red-hot tears sprang to his eyes as it flashed into his mind how Count Lucien would gloatingly relate the scene to Athenais, and describe to her how they had killed her pasteboard champion like a yellow-livered cur. But, racked as he was with scalding humiliation, he could not bring himself to halt, and offer himself as a sacrifice to honour spitted on the cold steel that was flashing in his rear.

Then it came to him that he was out-distancing his pursuers. Racing on, he forced himself to listen to their steps and attempt to assess how far they had dropped behind him. Another shout from de Caylus, taunting him as a vaunted English aristocrat and calling on him to turn and fight, told him that the Count must be a good twenty paces in his rear.

He risked one swift glance over his shoulder. Count Lucien was running silently and well, no more than six paces from his heels, and had the lead over the heavier de Caylus by some twenty yards.

Suddenly Roger stopped dead and swung about. He did not attempt to throw himself on guard but thrust out his sword and tensed his arm. Count Lucien had just time to make a downward stroke deflecting the point of Roger's blade from his chest to his thigh, then his own impetus carried him right on to it. The steel ripped through the upper part of his leg. With a wild cry, he twisted, dropped his sword and fell.

Roger's blade was caught fast in the muscle, and de Caylus had already covered half the distance between them. Swiftly lifting his left foot, Roger jammed it down hard on Count Lucien's writhing body, gave a sharp tug, and freed his sword. He had one moment's breathing space and he used it to get well clear of the still squirming Count. Throwing himself on guard in the middle of the road, he panted at de Caylus:

"Now we're man to man again, we'll see if an Englishman's not as good as a French nigger! Kill me if you can!"

Again their blades clashed, clung together, slithered and parted; only to rasp and send the sparks flying again a second later. Up—down. Up—down. Lunge—stamp. Parry—twist. Up—down. Up—down. Feint—stamp—thrust. Clash—clash—clash.

Roger's breath was coming quickly now. In running for his life he had used up his first wind. But de Caylus was no better off, as the pursuit had taken a lot of his breath out of him. While giving chase to Roger he had thrown aside the white powdered wig in which he had come from Versailles, and the lingering afterglow of the sunset showed his coarse, crisp black hair, matted in tight curls to his skull. His thick-lipped mouth hung slightly open and two rows of fine white teeth gleamed from it in a ferocious smile. The yellowish whites of his eyes were slightly bloodshot and they glittered like those of a wild boar avid for the kill.

He was still superbly confident and he took risks that Roger would not have dared to take; yet Roger could not get through his guard. Their eyes never left one another's for a second; but both of them knew that de la Tour d'Auvergne had come up with some of de Caylus's people and was ordering them to carry Count Lucien back to the coach.

So far Roger had required every iota of his skill to defend himself from the violence of the Count's attack; but now, de Caylus, realising at last that he was up against an antagonist worthy of him, began to fight more warily, which enabled Roger to attempt some of his favourite thrusts.

Four times they circled round one another, then he delivered a lunge that he had learned from Monsieur St. Paul, the ex-musketeer fencing-master of Rennes. It very nearly did the trick, but de Caylus jerked himself as upright as a matador on tiptoe before a charging bull, and Roger's blade, missing him by a quarter inch, ripped through the satin lapels of his coat.

Again, for a space they circled warily; then again Roger came in, this time with a thrust that had defeated him in one of his practice bouts only a few days before. But the Count must have known it. Quick as lightning he parried, made a swift encircling movement that almost forced Roger's sword from his hand, and stabbed straight at his eyes.

Roger jerked aside his head and the gleaming blade slithered past his ear; but his evasive action had been so violent that it threw him off his balance. For a second he was poised on the ball of one foot, then he tripped and fell.

With a cry of triumph de Caylus.was upon him, his sword drawn back to skewer him to the ground. Roger flung himself sideways, rolled over twice and was brought up by the roadside bank edging the ditch. As de Caylus came at him again he squirmed over into the ditch, twisted, and came up with one knee on the bank. Throwing up his sword his luck, and not his judgment, enabled him to parry the thrust.

For a moment they fought with renewed ferocity, the Count striving with might and main to finish his antagonist while he had him half crouching in the ditch. The very fury of his attack proved his temporary undoing. Instead of confining himself to thrusts he fought wild, using all his giant strength to beat down Roger's guard. Suddenly his sword snapped off short at the hilt.

As de Caylus jumped back it was Roger's turn to give a cry of triumph. Coming to his feet he sprang out of the ditch and rushed upon his adversary. But, before he could get into position to lunge the Count had flung the hilt of his broken sword in his face.

Roger ducked, but just not quickly enough. The sword hilt caught him ori the forehead, bounced from it and fell with a clang on to the road. For a moment he was half stunned and stood tottering there. De Caylus meanwhile had leapt back once more and cast a frantic glance round. His eye fell upon Count Lucien's sword, which had been left lying by the roadside some fifteen yards away. Rushing towards it, he snatched it up.

By the time Roger had recovered from his knock on the head sufficiently to advance again, de Caylus was on guard and ready for him. Again the deepening shadows echoed to the clash of swords. Up— down. Up—down. Thrust—stamp—parry. Clash—clash—clash.

But both the combatants were tired now. Neither had had a chance to take off their coats or neckbands, and both were streaming with sweat. Panting, gasping, their clothes disordered, their faces haggard and the perspiration trickling into their eyes, they fought doggedly on. Each thrust they gave grew weaker yet neither could get past the other's guard.

Suddenly de Caylus made a desperate bid to end matters. Charging in on Roger he lifted his sword high and lunged downwards. It was a cunning but unorthodox stroke, since it left its deliverer's breast temporarily exposed; yet it was the one that had defeated de la Tour d'Auvergne two months before.

Having heard the Vicomte describe exactly how it had been administered Roger knew the pass. It was his opportunity. Instead of endeavouring to parry the stroke he delivered a counter thrust himself. Lunging with every ounce of his remaining strength he went almost to his knees as he followed through, his left arm flung straight out behind him. De Caylus's blade passed harmlessly over his shoulder; his own pierced the Count through the heart and came out six inches behind his back.

For a moment de Caylus remained standing there, his eyes goggling. Then the blood gushed from his mouth and, with a horrible choking noise, he crashed to the ground. The falling body wrenched Roger's sword-hilt from his hand; he staggered hack, swayed drunkenly, and fell himself.

Almost overcome with exhaustion he lay gasping for breath in the middle of the road; then, dimly, he heard someone shouting at him. De la Tour d'Auvergne had ridden up and, wild with excitement, was congratulating him on his victory. Another voice joined in, and as Roger struggled panting to his knees he saw de Perigord coming at a limping run towards him.

" 'Twas a marvel!" cried the Abbé. "That final thrust of yours was superb! By the most cursed luck I missed the beginning. Before I could get to my coach you had all disappeared, and in following, my fool of a man took the wrong fork of the road a quarter of a mile back. But there is blood on your face. Are you badly hurt?"

"Nay," gasped Roger. "I've naught but a scratch on the shoulder; and a cut on the head—where his sword-hilt struck—when he threw it at me."

The Abbé cast a glance at de Caylus's prostrate body. "He'll throw no more sword-hilts," he said grimly. "I left the doctor in my coach, and the coach just round the bend of the road behind us; since the less he knows the better. Unless you need his ministrations yourself, 'tis pointless to call him."

"I pray you do so, Abbé," cut in the Vicomte. "Count Lucien de Rochambeau is wounded and should have attention."

"What!" exclaimed de Perigord. "Did he then join in the fight?"

Roger nodded. "The young caitiff sought to strike me down from behind. But worse! While I was parleying at the coach door he snatched off my mask and, like an imbecile, cried aloud both my name and his sister's. So all is known. De Caylus's people will be retailing the story to half Paris before another hour is past."

"Sacre bleu! Then the question of your returning to your mother is settled for you. You must fly instantly! To horse, man! To horse!"

De la Tour d'Auvergne manoeuvred Roger's mount round for him, and cried: "The Abbé is right! Your life will depend on the distance you can put between Paris and yourself before morning."

"One moment!" muttered Roger, and putting his foot on de Caylus's carcase he began to tug upon his sword to get it free.

The Vicomte went on quickly to de Perigord. "I had Count Lucien carried back to their coach. One of the footmen is wounded also. I had to shoot him before we could bring them to a halt. 'Twould be wise to leave your doctor to do what he can for them, and get away from here as quickly as possible yourself. In your place I would go into hiding for a while."

The Abbé considered for a moment, then he said! "Nay, 'tis not necessary. I saw only the end of the fight, not its beginning, and shall maintain that having delivered M. le Chevalier de Brook's message to M. de Caylus I was in no way responsible for what followed. But your case, mon cher Vicomte, is very different. Since you pistolled one of the servants, and played a major part in holding up the coach, you have laid yourself open to most serious charges."

"I know it, and intend to seek safety in flight."

Having recovered his sword Roger mounted his horse, and said to the Abbé: "I've no choice now but to bid you farewell; but I thank you mightily for your help in this night's work and pray that no ill will come to you on account of it."

"Fear not for me," de Perigord smiled. "To make my innocence the more plain I intend to drive on to de Caylus's petite maison and, with appropriate face, prepare them there to receive his body. Besides, the night is yet young, and the beautiful Olympe should not be deprived of her supper. I'll carry her back to Passy in my coach and do my poor best to console her for the loss of her rich lover."

Roger could not help laughing. "Abbé, you are incorrigible! May your zest for enjoyment never flag; and may we meet again to talk of this night at our ease, over a good bottle."

"We will, mon ami. If a warrant is issued to prevent your return I will seek you out when I go to England. In the meantime pray bear my greetings to Lord and Lady Grey, and to Mr. Pitt, should you see him. Take occasion also to wait upon your uncle, and tell my Lord Kildonan to bring me news of you when next he comes to Paris."

De la Tour d'Auvergne had already turned his horse in the direction of Sevres. Roger followed suit, and with shouts of farewell they galloped off into the gathering darkness.

After two miles they eased their pace and walked their horses to give them a breather. It was the Vicomte who broke the silence, by saying a little coldly:

"From de Perigord's parting messages I gather that your mother lives in England, and that you are, in fact, an Englishman?"

'"Tis true," Roger admitted. "My real name is Brook."

"Then may one ask why you have always given yourself out to be a Frenchman from the German provinces?"

"Twas not through any wish to deceive a good friend such as yourself," Roger assured him quickly. "It came about through my once having narrowly escaped being mobbed by some sailors who had ample cause to hate the English; and, later, to unsay what I had already said to various people seemed to invite too many needless complications. De Perigord discovered the truth only because he heard me babbling while unconscious from a blow on the head, and it then transpired that he is acquainted with my uncle. The story of how I came to France and entered M. de Rochambeau's service is a long one. I have often meant to tell it you, but no suitable occasion ever seemed to occur. I do trust that you are not offended by my having failed to make you this confidence?"

"Nay, not the least, now I understand the reason for your reticence. I was wondering, though, if Athenais knows that you are an Englishman and of noble birth."

"Yes, she has done so for a long time past. But why do you ask?"

"Because it seemed to me that if she knew your secret and had long regarded you as her equal, she could not help but love you."

"Monsieur le Vicomte, you pay me a great compliment."

"No more than is your due as a most handsome and gallant gentle­man. The romance of your situation, too, could hardly fail to appeal to any maiden, and, since you have told her this long story of yours, I can only assume that at times you must have managed to meet in private. Loving her as you do you would have been scarce human had you not attempted it."

Roger sighed. "Were anyone else to question me on this I'd deny it with my last breath; but, to you, I will avow it. Athenais and I have met many times in secret and we love one another very dearly."

"I should have had the wit to guess it," murmured the Vicomte; then, after a moment, he added: "That being so, I find it surprising that you did not attempt to elope together."

"We toyed with the idea," Roger admitted. "But almost from the first both of us knew in our hearts that we could never marry."

"Why so?"

"The sword of religion lies between us. I am a Protestant, and neither of us are prepared to give up our faith for that of the other. We recognised that our love must remain no more than a romantic attachment."

"Yet you knew that she must marry, and marry soon?"

"We accepted that. But both of us pinned our hopes upon her being given a husband who would love her and whom she would grow to love."

" 'Twas a slender hope," remarked the Vicomte cynically, "seeing the manner in which such marriages are arranged."

"Nay, not so slender in her case. Both she and I knew of your devotion to her and discussed it many times. She vowed that she would be mighty pleased to have so true a gentleman as yourself for her husband and would give all her mind to proving a good and loyal wife. 'Twas as savage a blow to us as to you when her father chose M. de Caylus for her."

"Aye, 'twas damnable ill-fortune; and I feel it to be more than ever so in view of what you tell me. Her romantic love for you is a thing apart. If her thoughts were already favourably engaged towards me, I vow I would have won her affections after a few months of marriage, and made her happy. Whereas, instead, her situation has become most desperate."

"I know it," muttered Roger gloomily. "Count Lucien ruined my whole plan. Once 'tis noised abroad that her father's secretary fought on her behalf everyone will put the worst construction on it. Even were it given out that I was a Prince of the Blood, who had been living in the household incognito, it could not save her from the scandal of having had an affair while still an unmarried girl."

The Vicomte nodded. "M. de Rochambeau will force her to take the veil. 'Tis his only possible course, consonant with honour, in such a situation."

"Yes; 'tis a tragedy; and I have but one consolation. She swore to me upon the cross that she would rather enter a convent than wed de Caylus; so my act to-night has burdened her with no worser fate than she would otherwise have decreed for herself."

"Do you really believe that she would have carried out her threat?"

"I am certain of it. 'Twas all I could manage a week back to dissuade her from defying her father; and when I told her I had arranged this meeting she would have burnt her boats to prevent it, had I not vowed that I meant to fight de Caylus whether she did or no."

"Will you attempt to see her before leaving?" "Nay. We have no rendezvous, and 'twould make her case worse than ever did I force my way in upon her. I had meant to arrange a meeting to-morrow morning but now I dare not stay for that." As he spoke, Roger urged his mount into a canter and added: "Gomel Every moment is precious. Now our horses are rested let us push on."

After another long gallop they eased their pace again and the Vicomte said: "Mon ami, I cannot keep this up. My old wound is paining me too badly. You must go on alone."

"Morte dieu!" exclaimed Roger. "I had forgotten it, and marvel now that you have stayed the pace so far. 'Tis the best of reasons for us remaining together, though; for should it reopen it may cause you to faint."

" 'Twill not reopen, provided I take my time for the rest of the way. But that, you cannot afford to do."

Roger knew it only too well; but, once again, he was not thinking on the same lines as his companion. The Vicomte had in mind the hue and cry that would soon be raised after the slayer of de Caylus, whereas he was concerned with the urgency of his getting back to Paris for the conference at which the Archbishop of Toulouse was to give his fateful decision. The meeting with de Caylus had taken much longer than he had thought would be the case and he still had over half the distance back to the Hotel de Rochambeau to cover. He would be late anyhow, and if he delayed to keep de la Tour d'Auvergne company he might miss the meeting altogether; yet he felt that he could not leave his friend who was now suffering, as well as in danger on his account; so he said firmly: "I'll not go on and leave you exposed to a greater risk of capture than myself."

"For me, capture would mean, at worst, a reprimand from the King and a spell in the Bastille; whereas for you it would mean death."

"True. Yet seeing the jeopardy in which you have placed yourself for me, I cannot bring myself to leave you."

De la Tour d'Auvergne shook his head impatiently. "I mean to seek sanctuary on my father's estates; as, once there, 'tis most unlikely that anything less than a charge of treason would be pressed against me. But the roads to Brittany and England are divergent, so we would have to part company in another hour or two in any event. I beg, nay, I insist, that you should use the time to the best possible advantage. Otherwise, if you are caught, I'll always believe that but for me you would have got away, and have your death upon my conscience."

"In that case you leave me no option," Roger replied with a feeling of relief that he could not repress. "But I pray you make what haste you can, so as to be well clear of Paris before morning."

" 'Twill be hours yet before warrants can be issued for us."

"I trust so. But since you are in no condition to ride hard 'tis doubly important that you should set out for Brittany with a minimum of delay."

"I shall not ride," the Vicomte announced, "but travel by post-chaise with a team of six; and while my man is making the necessary arrangements I intend to call at the Hotel de Rochambeau."

"You plan, then, to wait on Athehais and tell her what has occurred?" said Roger; and, as de la Tour d'Auvergne nodded, he went on quickly: I'm mighty glad of that. I had been racking my wits without avail, for some means of getting our news to her. I pray you make my adieus and explain the necessity under which I he to depart without taking leave of her in person."

The Vicomte hesitated. "I intended only to make my own adieus and, whilst doing so, offer formal condolences on her fiance having been killed in a duel, as though I had but just heard it. Since she knew of your intentions she will realise immediately who killed him."

"Heavens, manl Why stick at that?" Roger expostulated. " 'Tis but half the tale and will not give her warning of the storm which is about to break above her lovely head as a result of her brother's malice and stupidity. 'Twas to prepare her to meet her father's wrath on my account that I was seeking some way to get news to her; and, since you've a mind to say farewell to her before setting out for Brittany, 'tis the perfect opportunity."

"That's sound enough and, could I see her alone, I would willingly both tell her all and give her your messages. But you seem to forget that Madame Marie-Ange is certain to be present at our interview."

"What if she is! She, too, will be in full possession of the truth by to-morrow morning. There is naught to be gained by withholding it from her overnight. I beg you to speak openly before both of them, so that at least Athenais may have a little time to take stock of her situation."

"I had not looked at it that way before, but you are right," the Vicomte declared. "Now you must tarry no longer. God speed you, and a safe journey."

"And to you, dear friend!" replied Roger feelingly. "I'll ne'er forget your kindness, and I trust we'll meet again in happier circumstances."

The two young men clasped hands firmly, then Roger pressed his knees into his horse and urged it forward.

It was nearly half-past nine and darkness had fallen. The conference had been called for ten o'clock, and Roger doubted if he could get to it much before half-past. He no longer cared a straw if the Marquis should be angry at his lateness, but he was desperately anxious now lest the meeting should prove a short one and the decision be taken before his arrival. Since he could not have galloped his horse for the best part of nine miles he had so far lost little time unavoidably; but in an endeavour to make up some of the leeway caused by de Caylus's reluctance to fight, he dug his heels into his horse's flanks and forced him to go all out.

In spite of the semi-darkness he made good going all through the outskirts of Paris, and even when he reached the cobbled streets still did not spare his fast-failing mount. A church clock was striking the quarter after ten as he passed the Tuilleries. Five minutes later, he clattered past a long line of waiting coaches outside the Hotel de Rochambeau, and turned into its courtyard.

Flinging himself off the steaming horse he threw the bridle to a groom, who had come running out of the stable at the sound of the hoof-beats on the pave, then he ran to the door of the mansion.

As he reached it a sudden thought struck him. It was now too late to go up to his room and tidy himself before the meeting, as he had planned, and, although he could do that downstairs, he could not appear before the Marquis wearing a sword. Swiftly unbuckling his weapon he leant it against the stonework in a dark corner of the porch, where it would be easy for him to reclaim it on his way out.

On his entering the hall the two footmen on duty exclaimed in dismay at the blood on his face, but with a muttered Word to them that his injury was nothing to worry about, he dived into the powder-closet. Having washed his face and hands and tidied his hair he called to one of the men to brush the dust off his clothes, then dashed upstairs.

In his office he found his assistant in a state of excited apprehension on his behalf. The Marquis had been furious at Roger's disappearance and had ordered Paintendre to prepare the conference table but refused his offer to take notes.

As the easiest explanation for his lateness, the abrasion on his forehead and the rip in the shoulder of his coat where de Caylus's sword had torn it, Roger said abruptly that he had been set upon by footpads, then asked: "Are they all inside? How long have they been assembled?"

"No more than a quarter of an hour," Paintendre replied. "Most of them were here and arguing well before ten, but the Archbishop of Toulouse was a little late."

That the new Prime Minister had kept the appointment was all Roger wished to know. Taking a piece of paper he hastily scrawled upon it.

Monseigneur,

My service and most humble apologies for such inconvenience as my absence may have caused you. I had the misfortune to be attacked by footpads and was rendered incapable of returning to attend you earlier.

He would not have bothered, but for a sudden fear that unless he offered some explanation the Marquis might, in a fit of cold anger, send him from the room as soon as he appeared. With the paper in his hand he opened the door of the council chamber as noiselessly as he could, slipped quietly inside, and gave a swift look round.

The fifteen nobles who had attended the previous afternoon's gathering were all present and with them, seated on the Marquis's right, was Lomenie de Brienne, Archbishop of Toulouse, now Prime Minister of France. The prelate was wearing the violet robes of his ecclesiastical dignity and, with one alabaster hand, was toying with a great diamond and sapphire cross suspended from his neck by a satin ribbon.

As Roger entered de Castries was giving details of the naval preparations at Brest for the seizure of the Dutch ports. The Archbishop was listening to him attentively, but the Marquis was drawing figures on the wad of paper that lay before him and, looking up as the door opened, glowered at Roger. Tiptoeing round the big oval table Roger placed the note he had written by the Marquis's hand, made a low bow, and tiptoed away again towards his own little table beside the door.

On sitting down he was conscious of a sudden wave of relief. It was the last time that he would ever make his "humble service" to this frigid and heartless aristocrat. In another hour or two he would be his own master again, for a time at least; and, within a week, either free for good of this hateful subservience or occupying a condemned cell. Brushing the thought aside he gave all his attention to the meeting.

Within a few minutes he realised that it was, so far, no more than a repetition of that held the previous day. Evidently de Rayneval and the Comte de Maillebois had already made their reports on the situation in the United Provinces, and now the Ministers were outlining the state of immediate readiness of the French armed forces to undertake a lightning stroke.

As the phrases and arguments that he had heard before rolled smoothly from the tongues of de Breteuil, de Polignac and the rest, Roger's mind began to wander. In vivid flashes he saw again the critical phases of the terrible combat in which he had so recently engaged. He recalled de Perigord's cynical smile as he announced his intention of carrying the dead man's mistress off to supper, and the Vicomte's announcement that he meant to wait upon Athenais before setting out on his flight to Brittany. He wondered anxiously and sorrowfully what would become of Athenais, and if he would ever see her again. To his acute distress he had to admit to himself that it was most improbable, since nothing now could prevent her being immured in a convent, and, if he did succeed in escaping to England, he would never be able to return to France without imperilling his life.

A full hour went by and the Archbishop was asking the opinion of the Foreign Secretary, who had not yet spoken. M. de Montmorin showed none of his hesitation of the previous afternoon but now came out openly on the side of the camarilla that had plotted for war.

As Roger listened with half an ear he realised that the all-important decision would, at last, soon be taken, and that he must pull himself together. For the past half-hour he had been feeling completely exhausted. During his ride back to Paris the excitement of his victory and the urgency of getting to the meeting had prevented him from being fully conscious of his physical state. But, since he had been sitting in the council chamber he had felt with increasing severity the strain he had been through. The duel alone had proved a most gruelling ordeal and in it he had sustained certain injuries, hardly noticed at the time, but now nagging at him. The blood from the cut on his shoulder had dried and his shirt was sticking to it, so that it hurt every time he moved; the place where de Caylus's sword-hilt had struck him on the forehead had swollen into a big lump which throbbed dully.

The Comte de Montmorin had hardly ceased speaking when the Marquis came in to the attack. At first his tone was restrained and as he arrayed his well-reasoned arguments Roger was trying to think what he must do when the meeting ended.

The bulk of the money he had saved while in the service of M. de Rochambeau was in a separate bag, with the Marquis's bullion, in the coffret-fort that lay in the office outside, and to it he had the key. As soon as the meeting was over and the Marquis had gone to his own apartments he must collect that, and, he reminded himself with Scottish carefulness, help himself to a further twenty louis that were due to him for the month of August that had just expired. Then he would slip downstairs, collect his sword, saddle the best horse in the stable, and so away.

He felt that de la Tour d'Auvergne had been right in his contention that it would be morning before warrants were issued for their arrest, and he wondered if he dared risk attempting to see Athenais. The urge to give her what consolation he could, and the longing to hold her in his arms again, were almost overwhelming, but on several counts he decided most reluctantly against it.

In such foreboding circumstances a final meeting, far from consoling Athenais, could only harrow her still further; and his own hope of safety lay in reaching one of the Channel ports before his description could be circulated in them, and all captains sailing for England instructed to detain him. To reach Athenais at all he would have to wait until the whole household was asleep, then make his way like a burglar to her bedroom. If he was discovered there her father might well loll her, and, even if he got away again undetected, to give several precious hours to such a project would almost certainly result in his own capture and death.

The Marquis's voice had risen and he was now speaking much more rapidly. Roger had never before seen him display such passion and forcefulness. His blue eyes flashing he leaned towards the Archbishop and hammered home his thesis. France was on the verge of irretrievable ruin and open anarchy. Only one thing could save the monarchy, the Church and the nobility. The people's thoughts must be diverted from the hopeless tangle of internal affairs to sudden, unexpected and glorious triumphs beyond the frontiers. The lightning subjugation of the United Provinces would fill France's empty coffers, and give her a breathing space to reorganise. Before the nation had time to consider internal grievances again the Dutch ports could be made the bases of a French Armada and the people worked up to a fever pitch of excitement at the prospect of fresh conquests. By next summer the invasion could be launched and the final blow against England struck. The autumn -of 'eighty-eight would see the power of perfidious Albion for ever broken and France rich, prosperous, unchallengeable, the Mistress of the Empire of the World.

The Archbishop's face remained calm and impassive. He continued to toy with his heavy jewelled cross and neither by word nor gesture gave the faintest indication as to if the Marquis's impassioned harangue had made the least impression on him. Yet everyone in the room knew that he was a shallow, vain and intensely ambitious man. M. de Rochambeau was offering him a way of escape from innumerable difficulties with which it was far beyond his very limited capacities to deal. And, far more; for if this audacious and cunningly conceived plan succeeded he would go down to history as greater than Rosney, greater than Mazarin, greater than Colbert, greater even than Richelieu. He would be the most powerful Prime Minister that France had ever known and, if he wished, there would then be few obstacles to his ending his days upon the Papal throne. Could any vain, ambitious prelate possibly resist such a temptation?

As the Marquis ceased speaking there fell a deathly silence in the room. No one moved a muscle and all eyes were riveted with fascinated expectation on the Archbishop's pale face. Slowly he turned to M. de Rochambeau, and said:

"Monsieur le Marquis, you are right. Only a bold course can now save France from hideous disaster. You have won me to your plan and I congratulate you upon it. I give my authority for M. de Montmorin to write a letter in the terms you suggest to the Dutch Republican leaders, pledging them the armed support of France in their rising against the Stadtholder."

Silence fell again for a second. The Marquis was pale as a ghost but his eyes flashed with triumph. Suddenly the others gave vent to their feelings. As the Archbishop stood up to leave the table they broke into a noisy uproar of jubilant congratulation. Fawning upon him and flattering him as the greatest statesman that France had known for a dozen generations they accompanied him downstairs, and for some ten minutes Roger was left alone.

Since he knew that the Marquis and some of the others would return, as soon as they had seen the Archbishop to his coach, he remained where he was, standing by his table, now the prey of almost overwhelming emotions.

The treacherous subjugation of the United Provinces by a coup d'etat on the ioth of September—the first and all-important step in the plot that must lead to the destruction of Britain—was now inevitable, except for one slender possibility; and he alone, if fortune favoured him, had the power to give his country that chance. He was still convinced that if France was faced with immediate war with England and Prussia she would not dare to implement her promise to the Dutch Republicans. If the British Cabinet had news of what was afoot they still might hesitate to take the plunge and issue an instant ultimatum. If they did hesitate they would be lost. But before they even had a chance to take a decision they must be placed in full possession of the facts, and no one but himself was in a position to carry these facts across the Channel. It was now close on midnight of the 28th-29th August, so there were only twelve clear days before the mine was to be sprung. The Cabinet would need at least six days if effective counter-measures were to be taken to prevent the coup. That meant that he had six days in which to get to London—and by morning half the police in France would be hunting him for murder.

He was still immersed in the terrible responsibility that had been thrust upon him when M. de Rochambeau came back into the room, accompanied by Messieurs de Montmorin and de Rayneval.

"Now for the letter!" said the Marquis eagerly. "While we take care of that you, de Rayneval, had best order your baggage to be carried downstairs and get into your travelling things. Not a moment must be lost in transmitting the despatch; and, lest the Archbishop weaken overnight, you must be well on your way to the Hague by morning. Then it will be too late for any last moment shilly-shallying to rob us of our triumph."

"You are right, Marquis!" cried de Rayneval. "I'll make my preparations with all speed and rejoin you here the instant I am done;" and he hurried from the room.

The Marquis glanced at Roger. "You have parchment there? Take down my words in a clear hand. Address the letter to His Excellency, Mynheer van Berkel, Pensionary of Amsterdam; for submission to Their High Mightinesses the States-General of the United Provinces, and all whom it may concern."

Roger tried his quill and wrote the superscription, then he took down the despatch as the Marquis dictated it. The document was short and to the point; a clear and unequivocal promise of armed support by France should this prove necessary for the establishment and maintenance of a new Butch Republican Government in which for the future all sovereign powers of the United Provinces were to be vested.

When they had done the Comte de Montmorin signed the letter and produced a big seal from a satin-lined box that he had brought with him. Roger fetched wax from his office and the document was duly sealed with the impress of the Foreign Minister to His Most Christian Majesty Louis XVI of France.

It was now close on midnight. M. de Montmorin pleaded fatigue and, having congratulated the Marquis once more, took his departure, leaving M. de Rochambeau and Roger alone together.

For all his iron self-discipline the Marquis could hardly contain his excitement, while he waited for M. de Rayneval to return and collect the letter. Pacing up and down with his hands clasped behind his back he muttered to Roger:

' 'This is a great night, Breuc, a great night! You have been privileged to witness an historic occasion. For more than twelve months I have laboured tirelessly, and now, on the delivery of this despatch, I shall begin to reap my reward. This time next year you will see the real fruits of my work for France. Tis then that we shall witness the downfall of the avaricious, unscrupulous English. 'Tis then that their accursed island will at last be overwhelmed, and the Fleur-de-Lys of France fly unchallenged on every sea."

For a moment the veil of the Marquis's aloof passivity was lifted and Roger could see the hatred and ambition seething in his brain. With a flash of intuition he realised that the vain, empty Archbishop must fall like corn before the scythe of the reaper in front of tins imperialistic juggernaut. It was not Lomenie de Brienne who, if this conspiracy of conquest succeeded, would be the all-powerful Prime Minister of a Europe under the heel of France, or de Breteuil, or de Castries, or de Polignac; it would be the Marechal Due de Rochambeau.

Suddenly there was a commotion outside in the office. Both Roger and the Marquis turned towards the door. It was flung violently open and Count Lucien staggered in.

As his glance fell on Roger he let out a yell of mingled surprise and rage.

"Mort du diable! To find you here was beyond my wildest hopes! But for this final audacity you'll pay with your neck!"

Swinging round on his father, he shouted: "Do'st know the snake that thou hast harboured here? He had wounded me and killed de Caylus this very night! Aye, and the cur has brought indelible shame upon our house. He has seduced Athenais!"

Roger overturned the small table behind which he stood and jumped for the door. But it was too late. Attracted by Count Lucien's shouts the two footmen had come running upstairs; with them, in the office, were Paintendre and the returning M. de Rayneval. The way was blocked and Roger was unarmed. He knew that he was trapped.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE THREE FUGITIVES

FOR a second all seven men remained absolutely motionless, as though posed in some dramatic tableaux vivant; three on the inner side of the open doorway and four on the outer. Suddenly they came to life.

"Seize him!" cried Count Lucien to the footmen. "Seize him, and call the Archers of the Guard!"

The footmen were just behind M. de Rayneval. As they pushed past him to obey, Roger acted. Thrusting Count Lucien aside with one hand he slammed the door to with the other, locked it and pulled the key out. Turning his back to the door, he faced father and son.

The young Count gave a shout: "Break down the door! Break down the door!" And those outside began to hammer upon it.

The Marquis's face was now chalk-white. "It cannot be true," he gasped. " 'Tis like a nightmare! I'll not believe it!"

Roger's shove had sent Count Lucien reeling against a gilded console table fixed to the wall. The blood was seeping through a bandage on his thigh, and with one foot slightly raised he clung to the table for support.

"You'll have ample proof soon enough, Monsieur," he cried. "My own blood is first testimony to what I say, and de Caylus's servants will have carried the story of the fight to a hundred ears by now."

"And whose fault is that?" Roger snapped. "Had you not snatched off my mask and given free rein to your imbecile tongue no one would ever have known who it was that challenged de Caylus to fight, or why."

"Mask! Challenge!" exclaimed the Marquis. "What means all this? For God's sake tell me plainly what has occurred."

"De Caylus and myself were returning from Versailles to his house in the Bois de Meudon," said Count Lucien hurriedly. "Our coach was held up by this churl and some friends of his. They wounded one of the servants then attacked us, forcing us to fight."

"You cowardly assassin! Why not stick to the truth?" Roger cried, trembling with rage. "My friends accompanied me only to see fair play. Since de Caylus refused the civil challenge that I sent I was forced to taunt him to a fight; but when we did fight it was man to man; until you sneaked up on me from the rear and tried to run me through the back. Yet even then I bested both of you single-handed and, having marked you well, slew him in fair fight.

The Marquis stared at him with unbelieving eyes. "You killed de Caylus in single combat? I'll not believe it! He was one of the finest swordsmen in all France."

Roger shrugged. "Disbelieve it then, if you wish. Those who saw it will vouch for what I say."

To make themselves heard they now had to shout, as the people outside had fetched implements and were endeavouring to break down the door; but it was of heavy oak with a good stout lock and at present only quivered at the blows that rained upon it.

"What quarrel had you with de Caylus?" the Marquis asked suddenly, still seeking to grasp the rights of this terrible affair.

Lucien replied for Roger with his accustomed venom. "He killed the Count to prevent his wedding Athenais. Did I not tell you, Monsieur, that this viper has become her lover? Had I not unmasked him he would have achieved his end of remaining on here and keeping her for his mistress."

" 'Tis a he!" roared Roger. "I'll not deny that I love Athenais, but I would have been happy to see her wed to any decent man."

The Marquis passed a hand across his eyes. "You!" he stammered. "You, my daughter's lover. Mort Dieu! The shame of it will kill me!"

The hammering upon the door forced Rogei to raise his voice still higher, as he cried: "I said that I loved her, not that I was her lover; and there is a vast difference in the terms."

"Who would believe you?" sneered the Count. "Not I, for one."

"Thou art right!" moaned the Marquis. "Marie, Mere de Jesu! What have I done to deserve this? That my wretch of a daughter should give herself to the embraces of one little better than a serf!"

"Damn you!" snarled Roger, with a sudden flash of vindictiveness. " 'Tis good, for once, to see your arrogance humbled."

Lucien leaned forward. " 'Twas but another lie then, about your being of noble birth?"

The door was creaking now. Someone had found a crowbar and was trying to lever it from its sockets. Roger knew that there was no time to spare for arguments and flung back: "Believe what you like, I care not," and took a step towards the long line of windows.

But the Marquis clutched at this straw which might salve his injured pride. Side-stepping to bar Roger's path, he cried: "What is this story? Since you killed de Caylus you must be a remarkably fine swordsman. Have you the right to bear arms?"

Roger ignored the question and shouted: "Stand from my path, or 'twill be the worse for you."

Count Lucien's voice came, now from his rear. "He says he's the nephew of an Earl, and that his father is an Admiral of the English Fleet. The Abbé de Perigord swore to that on his behalf."

Suddenly the Marquis's whole attitude changed. From a distraught and humiliated parent he became again the imperialist statesman. His whole body tensed from the swift realisation that his precious plans were now in vital peril. His mighty scheme might yet be undone if, in ignorance, he had taken an enemy into his employ. Drawing himself up, he cried above the din: "I demand the truth! Have you deceived me as to your origin?"

"Yes," Roger shouted back. "I am an Englishman, and proud of it. Now get from my path, or I'll no longer let the fact that you are Athenais's father weigh with me."

De Rochambeau's reply was a sharp command: "Lucienl Have at at him! He must not leave the room alive!"

The door creaked and groaned; one hinge had given way and the corner above it gaped open. Rhythmic thuds upon the panels told that those who were trying to break it down were now using a heavy piece of furniture as a battering-ram.

At the Marquis's order the Count drew the frail Court sword that he had been wearing ever since leaving Versailles. As Roger heard it slither from its scabbard he swung round. Only two paces separated them. Before Lucien could poise himself for a lunge Roger clenched his fists and went sailing in. The slender sword hovered, still pointing towards the ceiling, as he struck out with his right. The blow took the young man fair and square beneath the chin.

His head shot backwards, his feet slid from under him; and, as he fell, the edge of the console table struck him sharply behind the ear. His body hit the highly-polished floor with a thud, then slithered along it. His sword flew from his hand and clattered away across the parquet. He rolled over once, groaned, and lay still.

As Roger's eye followed Lucien's fall, it suddenly lit upon the letter for the Dutch Republican leaders. It had been lying on his own small table, but had been wafted from it to the floor, when he knocked the table over on Count Lucien's sudden appearance. Previously it had not even occurred to him that he might get away with the vital document. Now, it flashed upon him that, if he could, it would provide incontestable proof of all he meant to say if he ever succeeded in reaching England.

Stooping, he snatched it up, and thrust it into his pocket. Then he turned again, and ran towards the windows.

But in the half-minute occupied by Roger's encounter with Lucien the Marquis had not been inactive. The second he had ordered his wounded son to the attack he had swung about and raced for the far end of the room. The dress sword that he had been wearing before the meeting lay there on a chair. Seizing the shagreen scabbard with one band and its diamond-studded hilt with the other, he wrenched it out.

Roger bad reached the long line of low windows and flung one of them open, but a glance over his shoulder told him that he dared not attempt to wriggle through it. Before he could possibly do so the Marquis would be upon him from the rear.

For the second time that night the horrible thought of a glittering steel blade searing through his back seized him. Turning again he left the window in a bound and sped across the room towards Lucien's limp body.

As he ran his eyes were on the door. The din of blows upon it now half deafened him. Stout as it was, he could see from its swaying that it could not hold much longer. And once the mob of servants broke into the room all chance of escaping by the window would be gone. They would pull him down as surely as a pack of deer hounds founder an exhausted stag at bay.

The impetus of his dash across the room caused him to come up with a crash against the console table. He grabbed at it, missed its edge, and fell. As he rolled over he saw the Marquis coming at him sword in hand. De Rochambeau's blue eyes were as hard and cold as the steel he held. There was not a trace of mercy in them, and he lunged downwards with all his force, intent to kill.

Roger jerked himself violently aside. The point of the sword stabbed through his coat within an inch of his ribs and buried itself quivering in the floor.

For a moment it was stalemate. Roger was pinned down by his clothes, but the Marquis could not free his blade from the wood that gripped its point; the one strove to wrench himself away; the other tugged with all his strength upon his sword. Simultaneously, Roger's coat ripped and the wood yielded up the steel.

The weapon came free with such suddenness that its release nearly sent the Marquis over backwards. As he staggered, and strove to regain his balance for a second thrust, Roger had time to roll over again. His hand shot out and clutched the hilt of Count Lucien's sword. Squirming under the big oval table, he came up on his knees, bumped his head violently, fell forward, recovered, and stumbled to his feet on its far side.

Silent, grim, merciless, the Marquis came round its edge at him. Roger stepped back a pace and threw himself on guard. The swords of both combatants were light, but none the less deadly. They met with a "ting," bent, slithered and circled, catching the rays from the steadily-burning candles.

Now that Roger was armed his hopes of getting away had risen. His victory over de Caylus had given him immense confidence in his sword-play. He did not believe that a man of fifty, who rarely took any exercise, could stand up to him for more than half-a-dozen passes; but he soon found that he had been counting his chickens before they were hatched.

De Rochambeau was no mean swordsman, and he fought with cool, calculated cunning. He made no attempt to disable his antagonist but simply sought to keep him in play while warily defending himself. After he had parried three rapid thrusts Roger divined his intent. He was taking no chances but playing for time, till the door should collapse and the shouting mob outside come streaming in to his assistance.

Roger knew then that he must finish matters or be captured. Suddenly closing in he ran his blade along that of the Marquis until the two swords were hilt to hilt, then he gave a violent twist of his wrist. The stroke was an extremely risky one, as, to make it, he had had to throw himself off balance, but he was gambling on the Marquis's wrist proving weaker than his own. For a second the decision lay in the lap of the gods, then de Rochambeau's wrist gave way. His hand doubled back and his weapon sailed across the room to strike with a clang against his ornate desk.

For an instant only, the Marquis's eyes showed indecision, then, risking a thrust, he stretched out clawing hands and rushed right in on Roger. Short of killing him there was only one thing to do. Throwing up his sword so that it slanted back across his shoulder, Roger drove the butt of its hilt into his aggressor's face. The gilded ball of the pommel struck the Marquis above the left eye.

With a loud cry, the first sound he had uttered since he had snatched up his sword, he sagged at the knees, and fell sprawling at Roger's feet.

Turning about Roger threw a swift look at the door. The lock and one hinge still held but both the upper panels had been stove in, and one of the footmen was striving to wriggle through one of the jagged holes. Full of apprehension now as to what reception he might meet with in the courtyard, Roger ran back to the window.

Normally at this hour the stable hands would have been asleep, but it was not much over a quarter of an hour since the nobles attending the conference had departed, so in the past few minutes someone might easily have mustered them.

Throwing a section of the window open, he peered out. With infinite relief he saw that it was not occupied, as he had feared it would be, by another group of M. de Rochambeau's people waiting to set upon him. Evidently it had not occurred to any of those upstairs that he might risk the drop into the courtyard.

It was dark down there and the place was full of shadows but there was no sign of life except near the gate, where a coach was standing. It sped through his mind that it must be the one which was to carry M. de Rayneval to The Hague.

Taking his sword between his teeth he threw one leg over the low sill. As he did so a figure moved out of the patch of shadow at the back of the coach, and called something up to him; but he did not catch the words as, at that moment, the door gave with a crash behind him.

Drawing his other leg over the sill he squirmed round and, gripping the woodwork with his hands, lowered himself, letting his feet dangle.

He was now looking into the room. The door had given way with the wretched footman still halfway through the smashed panel. His head and shoulders were buried beneath it while his legs kicked grotesquely in the air. But none of the others were attempting to help him. With M. de Rayneval at their head eight or ten members of the household were scrambling over the wrecked door and coming straight at Roger.

He sent up a fleeting prayer that the man by the coach would not be upon him before he could recover from his fall, took the sword from his mouth with his right hand, hung for a second suspended by his left, then let go of the sill.