"'What's that, you jabbering idiot!' he roars, in his brutal way. "'Captain Brand and Monsieur Mortlake seem like as twin dogs,' I reply; 'you might change names with our haughty captain, and no one be the wiser, save that he has the _bel air_ which you want--the polish, the courtesy, which those of the mob can never learn.' "'Curse him! I have as good blood in my veins as he has any day!' hisses the furious voice of my envious Mortlake. "Then he turns sour and silent, and is very poor company. I sing _chansonettes_ to the moon; I whistle operas; I talk to my horse; he takes no notice; I rally him upon his temper, and he swears madly at me. "So I light my cigar and smoke for company until we reach the great Castle Brand, which towers like a vast cathedral under the moon. "Mademoiselle, a magnificent statue waits him at the door. Mademoiselle remembers the interview. Enough! My tripping tongue need not rehearse the scene. "Back comes Monsieur Mortlake, devil-possessed, and overwhelms me with a terrible curse. "I laugh at his slow-stepping wit. "I have seen a pretty possibility for monsieur, even while mademoiselle is speaking. "'Stupid Englishman!' I cry, as we ride across the Waaste, 'don't you see that you might get this fine English castle and estate to yourself some day, if you could personate brave Captain Brand?' "My romantic fancy is captivated by this little scheme. I go on amusing myself by describing how it might be done. I give you my word, mademoiselle, that it is all in jest--a freak of imagination nothing more. "My sour comrade listens with a serpent's guile; his clever brain is twisting a rope out of my threads of fiction; he catches my bagatelle, and transforms it into a plot--the plot which would have proved successful but for Marguerite, the heroic. "_Eh bien_, to continue: "We ride away to the hotel at Regis that night, and monsieur had a little interview with Captain Brand, and tells him the message which Mademoiselle Walsingham has sent to him. Then is the captain furious, and impatient, and self-reproachful for his cold-blooded neglect of the poor fond grandmama, and he gallops off to the old castle on the wings of the wind, and is too late, and remains moping at the castle, seeing nobody but red-eyed Chetwode, for the magnificent Mademoiselle Walsingham has locked herself within her room and will not see him. "My careful Mortlake gathers all this from the footmen and servants from the castle, and makes envious remarks upon the dog that has, and wants it not, and the dog that wants, and has it not. "In the evening of that day on which Madame Brand is interred, Monsieur le Capitaine comes back to Regis choking with rage. Monsieur Mortlake offers congratulations, and hears the whole of the will from our angry captain, who utters a scornful fanfaronade against the brave Mademoiselle Walsingham. Cries royally: