“Yes; rogues have very poor qualities,” sneered Guerchard. “One can’t have everything,” said the Duke quietly; but his languid air had fallen from him. “Their ambushes, their attacks, their fine tactics aren’t up to much,” said Guerchard, smiling contemptuously. “You go a trifle too far, I think,” said the Duke, smiling with equal contempt. They looked one another in the eyes with a long, lingering look. They had suddenly the air of fencers who have lost their tempers, and are twisting the buttons off their foils. “Not a bit of it, your Grace,” said Guerchard; and his voice lingered on the words “your Grace” with a contemptuous stress. “This famous Lupin is immensely overrated.” “However, he has done some things which aren’t half bad,” said the Duke, with his old charming smile. He had the air of a duelist drawing his blade lovingly through his fingers before he falls to. “Oh, has he?” said Guerchard scornfully. “Yes; one must be fair. Last night’s burglary, for instance: it is not unheard of, but it wasn’t half bad. And that theft of the motorcars: it was a neat piece of work,” said the Duke in a gentle, insolent voice, infinitely aggravating. Guerchard snorted scornfully. “And a robbery at the British Embassy, another at the Treasury, and a third at M. Lepine’s—all in the same week—it wasn’t half bad, don’t you know?” said the Duke, in the same gentle, irritating voice. “Oh, no, it wasn’t. But—” “And the time when he contrived to pass as Guerchard—the Great Guerchard—do you remember that?” the Duke interrupted. “Come, come—to give the devil his due—between ourselves—it wasn’t half bad.” “No,” snarled Guerchard. “But he has done better than that lately.... Why don’t you speak of that?” “Of what?” said the Duke. “Of the time when he passed as the Duke of Charmerace,” snapped Guerchard. “What! Did he do that?” cried the Duke; and then he added slowly, “But, you know, I’m like you—I’m so easy to imitate.” “What would have been amusing, your Grace, would have been to get as far as actual marriage,” said Guerchard more calmly. “Oh, if he had wanted to,” said the Duke; and he threw out his hands. “But you know—married life—for Lupin.” “A large fortune ... a pretty girl,” said Guerchard, in a mocking tone. “He must be in love with some one else,” said the Duke. “A thief, perhaps,” sneered Guerchard. “Like himself.... And then, if you wish to know what I think, he must have found his fiancée rather trying,” said the Duke, with his charming smile. “After all, it’s pitiful—heartrending, you must admit it, that, on the very eve of his marriage, he was such a fool as to throw off the mask. And yet at bottom it’s quite logical; it’s Lupin coming out through Charmerace. He had to grab at the dowry at the risk of losing the girl,” said Guerchard, in a reflective tone; but his eyes were intent on the face of the Duke. “Perhaps that’s what one should call a marriage of reason,” said the Duke, with a faint smile.