"_Ma foi_, monsieur is angry. Why so, with one who would serve him? Justine loves you--I then love you. How do I know?"--a shrug here--"monsieur is _indiscret_. Justine could not fail to see." "Confusion!" ejaculated Melton. "And yet it is so easy, monsieur--a note--a cake of soap--a packet of bloom--a bottle of scent--it is wrapped up--for Miladi Maude with my printed card outside--_Voila_! who could suspect?" "Look here," said Melton, turning sharply round. "Pardon, monsieur, I use the scissor; there is a little fresh growth here." "What do you expect to be paid for this, if I trust you?--and perhaps I shall not, for it is confoundedly dirty work." "Pardon, monsieur," cried the Frenchman, laying his hand upon his breast, "I am a gentleman. Pay? Noting. Have I not told you that Justine, whom I have the honour to love, adores her young mistress. She adores monsieur, and would serve him. I in my turn adore Mademoiselle Justine. I am her slave--I am yours." "Let's see--Justine? That is her ladyship's maid?" "True, monsieur. But this morning she say to me--`Hector, _mon enfant_, I'm _desolee_ on the subject of those two children. Help them, _mon garcon_, and I will be benefactor.'" "It is good, I say to her, and I place myself at monsieur's disposition." Charles Melton frowned, and Monsieur Hector went on with his shampooing, till the head between his hands was dried, polished, and finished, when the hairdresser took up a little ivory brush, and anointed it with some fragrant preparation to be applied in its turn to the patient's beard, till the fair hair glistened like gold, and Monsieur Hector fell back and looked at him in admiration. "But monsieur is fit now for the arms of a goddess," he exclaimed. "Does he accept my assistance?" Melton looked at him for a moment, as he paid the fee usual upon such occasions, and then said bluntly-- "Monsieur Launay, I am obliged to you, and you mean well. Doubtless Mademoiselle Justine means well, and she has my thanks, but I cannot accept your assistance. Good mom--Ah, Joby, old fellow." He drew back into the little room as the dog came hastily in, and placed his head against his master's leg. "Why, Joby," exclaimed Melton, in a low excited tone, "where is your collar? Blood too! You have been fighting. Good heavens! what shall I do!--If that note is found!--Oh, my poor darling!" he muttered, and he hurried from the place. CHAPTER TWELVE. LA BELLE ALLIANCE. "It's enough to drive a man to do anything," exclaimed Melton, as he dashed down the fashionable newspaper he had been reading, where in a short paragraph he had found that which he told himself would make him wretched for life. The paragraph was as follows-- "We understand that an alliance is on the _tapis_ between Sir Grantley Wilters, of Morley Hall, Shropshire, and Eaton Place, and Lady Maude Diphoos, daughter of the Earl of Barmouth."