“Who gave you a letter to him. There is figured out the value of the social relations. He has been dead, sir, since five years. He left two sons, of whom I am the younger. My brother, Lucien, a sailor, who held his commission to the West Indies under De Grasse, perished there in ’81 in an explosion of powder. The estate devolved upon me. We have not your laws of primogeniture, and had poor Lucien returned, we should have shared the burden and the joy of inheritance----” He had been leaning carelessly back against a table while he talked. He now came erect, and added, with a queer look on his face-- “--and the pleasure of welcoming to Méricourt the nephew of our father’s friend.” “You are very good, sir,” said Ned. “I would fain believe it, monsieur. I have the pleasure to offer you the use of the chateau as an hotel for just so long as you care to stay.” Ned, taken momentarily aback, hesitated over the right construction of so enigmatical an offer. “Ah!” said the other, “it is to be considered literally.” “In the business aspect, monsieur?” “Assuredly. You must understand I have waived the privileges of my class, amongst which is to be numbered the right to acquit the wealthy of taxation. The ponds must feed the rivulets, monsieur.” Seeing his visitor lost in introspection, “_Enfin_,” he cried, with a musical laugh, “that is the practical side. It is not based, believe me, upon a system of profits. For the social, I take you to my heart, monsieur, with all enthusiasm.” And so Ned became a guest at the chateau at cost price. CHAPTER V. Monsieur the master of Méricourt would seal that queer compact of entertainment with the nephew of his father’s friend over a bottle of Niersteiner, which he had up from the cellar there and then. “’Tis a rare brand,” quoth he, his eyes responding with a flick to the drawing of the cork; “and we will share both bottle and expense like sworn brothers!” Ned sipped a single glass reluctant. So much the better for the other. “I am your debtor!” he cried, as he drained the flask. “Draw upon me for the balance when you will.” His face was flushed. He talked a good deal, and not in an intelligent vein. The visitor accepted him as an enigma that time should solve. There seemed so much firmness of purpose, so wanton an infirmity of performance, in his composition. Certainly, having the courage of his convictions in one way, and the consequent right to expound them literally in another, he might lay claim to consistency in flooding himself with wine before eleven o’clock in the morning. Still, to Ned, this implied a certain contradiction, inasmuch as no creed of right hedonism could include excess with its penalties.