The Vicomte de Saint-Ermay nodded rather disconsolately, and strolled back to his fellow-players. But they had broken up and the table was deserted. He threw himself down in his former chair, crossed his legs, put an elbow on the table, and waited. He was not sure that he was glad to see his cousin in the present company. In spite of temperamental gulfs, there subsisted between them a very sincere if limited affection, and he knew how far from friendly to the Marquis were the dispositions of most present. And though he permitted himself free criticism, not to say mockery, of his kinsman’s views and actions, he very rarely indulged in it except to Gilbert’s face, and at no time encouraged it in others. The smiles and glances around him were therefore highly galling to the feeling of mingled affection, amusement, and family pride with which he regarded Château-Foix. “You appear to be sulking, Saint-Ermay,” said a voice suddenly behind him. “Can it be that you are bankrupt?” And the speaker, a young exquisite like himself, powdered and point-devise, but lacking his own good looks, perched himself on the table and leant towards him. “Are your pockets quite empty?” “Very nearly,” responded the Vicomte, with a shrug. “You are in the same condition yourself, I expect, De Périgny, if what I hear is true. But if you think I was sulking (which I was not), favour me with a little of your conversation.” “I see—I am to enact David before Saul,” retorted the newcomer, slipping off the table. “Or rather, since I find myself so scriptural, I fancy that it is a case of ‘Occupy till I come.’” He punctuated his remark with a glance at the other side of the room, where Château-Foix was visible in conversation. “Monsieur le Cousin will want a word with you presently, I suspect.” “I suppose so,” said Saint-Ermay resignedly. “Meanwhile you can tell me all you know about the Lafayette affair. The accounts are so confoundedly conflicting.” For answer his companion hailed a passing friend. “We want news of General Morpheus,” he called out. “D’Aubeville, you will know. Has he gone back to his army—is he going back at all? Has the Assembly hanged him or the National Guard made him dictator?” The young man addressed shook his head, and a smile flickered for an instant over his kindly and melancholy visage. “I am probably little wiser than you, gentlemen. You know that their Majesties received the Marquis very coldly the day before yesterday, and that the Queen is reported to have said that she would rather perish than be saved by Lafayette.” “Wherein I applaud her,” observed the Comte de Périgny. “He could have closed the Jacobins that day, for most of the National Guard were eager to do so. But he dismissed them, and lost his chance, for at the review which he held yesterday in the Champs Elysées only a hundred or so put in an appearance.” The others laughed, for they were emphatically of the Queen’s opinion.