This being a mere statement, Bethune did not feel called upon to reply; and M. Châtelard, amazed at a silence which he, with subtlety, interpreted as hostile, was fain to exclaim: "Is it possible you do not think so?" "I do not feel myself competent to judge," said Raymond Bethune. "My faith," thought the other, "we do not make great progress at this rate. Let us try something more intimate. At least, my young friend," he went on aloud, "you have, I trust, yourself no cause to be dissatisfied with his Excellency. Some little demand you made of him to-night, did you not? Some matter concerning career, advancement?" "My career, my advancement, are quite independent of Sir Arthur Gerardine’s influence." M. Châtelard pondered; was there not certainly something more than British reserve in the almost resentful tone—some deep-lying grudge that it would be piquant to find out? "Why, then," he cried, with much artful artlessness of candour. "Why, see how one can deceive one’s self! Just now I would have sworn, from your attitude, despite your national phlegm, that you had solicited and been granted some personal favour." "A personal favour, yes. Nothing connected with my service." "A personal favour, _hein_?" "If indeed you would reckon it a favour—a mere act of justice I regard it." "Indeed, my dear sir, an act of justice?" "The whole affair is one that could not interest you, M. Châtelard." "My dear young man, all interests me. It is my trade to be interested—always." They had reached the end of the palace grounds; and, by the lights of the flaring booths that were plastered against the walls, Bethune halted a second to survey the shrewd, kindly, expressive countenance, quivering with eager curiosity, at his shoulder. His own features relaxed with that twinkle of the eyes which was his usual approach to a display of amusement. After all, why should he not gratify this note-taking traveller with his tale? There was no mystery about it; and a plain statement of the situation might serve to put in order his own ideas which had been troubled by Lady Gerardine’s unreasonable and unexpected attitude. "My business with Sir Arthur to-night is soon told——" He broke off abruptly. "You are, I understand, a sedulous observer: did you happen to take any note of her Excellency the Governor’s wife?" "Did I take any note of——" the sentence escaped M. Châtelard in a breathless way—as if the words had been knocked out of him—and ended in a little squeak. He drew back one step and contemplated the younger man in silence for a perceptible moment. "Did I notice her Excellency?" he repeated then, in elaborately natural tones. "Why, my dear fellow, it would mean having no eyes not to notice her—one of the most beautiful women it has ever been my good fortune to see! In fact, to-night, still under the influence of the look in her eyes, I should say, my friend, _the_ most beautiful! Lucky dog (as you say) your Governor!"