The marquis rose before sundown and with the assistance of his aged
valet made his toilet. He was dressed in black satin, with white lace
ruffles, and across his breast he flung the ribbon of the Chevalier of
the Order, in honor of the governor's attentions. Presently, from his
window he saw the figure of a woman--young and slender; doubtless some
relative of the governor's. Patiently he waited for her to turn. When
she did so, a subdued exclamation fell from his lips. He had seen that
face before, once or twice on board the Henri IV. It was the woman in
the grey mask. He stared hard and long. Where else had he seen this
face? He was growing old, and sometimes his memory failed him.
Without being conscious of the act, he readjusted his wristbands and
the ruffles at his throat. A handsome young woman at the table would
be a recompense for the dullness of the hour. But he waited in vain at
supper for the appearance of the exquisite face. Like the true
courtier he was, he made no inquiries.
When they were at last alone, the governor said: "I am truly glad you
have come to make the Chevalier return to France. He will never be at
peace here."
"Why?" asked the marquis, weakening his burgundy with water.
"The . . . That is . . ." But the governor foundered.
"Why?" repeated the marquis. "Has he made a fool of himself here as in
France?"
"No, Monsieur," warmly. "He has proved himself to be a gentleman and a
brave soldier."
"He drinks?"
"Only as a gentleman might; neither does he gamble."
"Ah!"
The governor drew figures on the dusty bottle at the side of his plate.
"If he does none of these things," said the marquis, "why can not he
live in peace here?"
"His . . . unfortunate history has followed him here."
"What?" The marquis's glass crashed upon the table and the wine crept
among the plates, soaking the marquis's sleeves and crimsoning his
elegant wristbands.
"What did you say?"
"Why," began the governor, startled and confused, "the history of his
birth is known." He looked at the walls, at the wine running about, at
the floor, at everything save the flashing eyes opposite.
"So the fool has told it here?" harshly. "Bah! let him rot here, then;
fool!"
"But he has said nothing; no one knew till . . ."
"Oh! then it was not Monsieur le Comte who spoke?"
"Monsieur le Comte?"
"That is the title which my son bears."
"Good God, Monsieur, then what is all this about?"
"It will take some time to tell it, Monsieur," said the marquis,
shaking his sleeves and throwing salt upon the table. "First, I wish
to know the name of the man who started the story."