"My name is Desmond of Desmondstown," said Fergus in his slow, grave voice. The little madame gave a sort of bounce in the air. "Then the day of greatest joy has arrived," she said. "My poor husband, he frets day and night, oh, but he has no reason. He is not ravished as he ought to be with all those good things that I have provided him with. His son, his only son, married! Ah, but it was a Paul and Virginia affair. He married a young Irish lady of beauty the most superb. I know it, for she came here and _I_ sold her a _chapeau_ and a _robe_. Ah, but you are like her, monsieur--you of Ireland, I mean." "I am her brother," said Fergus. "Did I not say it was a day of joy," exclaimed the little Comtesse. "Well, she was beautiful and they loved her all of them, but the Comte, my good husband, he was harassed much because there was not the customary _dot_, and he made the young m'sieur Henri, the husband of the beautiful madame, angry with bitter words and the young m'sieur he took, yes, he took his wife away. She was like a star for loveliness and then we heard that she had died, and shortly afterwards we got the information that the romantic ideas of _mon pauvre mari_ were never to be fulfilled, for the young Comte died also somewhere in that bitter _Angleterre_ and we lost sight of the good babe that had been put into his hands by his young lovely wife before she departed to _le bon Dieu_. Ah, but those were sad times! This is the house, messieurs, now we will enter, and I will tell M'sieur le Comte that you have arrived." The two men were left staring at each other. The château was in truly French style, and although it looked perfectly neat and tidy lacked the air of comfort which John Mansfield's little home possessed, and which was even to be seen in Desmondstown. After a very short interval Madame appeared again on the scene. "_Alors, je vais vous présenter à l'instant._ Follow me, I beg. Rest you here, M'sieur." She pointed to a little lounge in a gaily decorated drawing-room, "and I will take M'sieur, the Irish gentleman, to see my husband. I will bring you _l'eau sucrée, tout-de-suite_. Now follow me, M'sieur from Ireland." Fergus Desmond gave his friend a glance of dismay. "Be sure that all will be well," murmured the Rev. John Mansfield. There was a sort of intense encouragement in the words, and, holding his head very erect and pushing back his fine square shoulders, Fergus followed Madame la Comtesse into a peculiarly arranged _salon_, which was half a bedroom, half a sitting-room. On a sofa, supported by many pillows, and covered by a thick crimson plush rug, lay a thin, very old, very worn man. He had all the inimitable grace of his nation, and would have sprung to his feet to put his heels and knees together, and make the necessary bow if Madame had not interrupted him.