Her eyes were very fine, her manner frank and engaging. Moreover, the Duke hated to see people disappointed. Thus the thing might just as well have happened as not. And on so narrow a point did the issue stand that to this day certain persons declare that it--or part of it--did happen; for why, and on what account, they ask, should an experienced connoisseur (and such undoubtedly was the Duke of Belleville) present a young lady previously unknown to him (or, for the matter of that, any young lady at all, whether known or not known to him) with such a rare, costly, and precious thing as the Queen Bess flagon? For the fact is--let the meaning and significance of the fact be what they will--that when the young lady, gazing fondly the while on the flagon, exclaimed, “I never really cared about him much, but I should have liked the beautiful flagon!” the Duke answered (he was still leaning over her chair, in order the better to explain and trace the figure on the flagon): “Of him you are well rid. But permit me to request your acceptance of the flagon. The real Duke of Belleville, madam, must not be outdone by his counterfeit.” “Really?” cried the young lady. “Of course,” murmured the Duke, delighted with the pleasure which he saw in her eyes. The young lady turned a most grateful and almost affectionate glance on the Duke. Although ignorant of the true value of the Queen Bess flagon, she was aware that the Duke had made her a very handsome present. “Thank you,” said she, putting her hands into the Duke’s. At this moment a loud and somewhat strident voice proceeded from the door of the room. “Well, I never! And how did you come here?” The Duke, looking round, perceived a stout woman, clad in a black petticoat and a woollen shawl; her arms were akimbo. “We came in, madam,” said he, rising and bowing, “by the hall door, which we chanced to find open.” The stout woman appeared to be at a loss for words. At length, however, she gasped out: “Be off with you. Don’t let the Inspector catch you here!” The Duke looked doubtfully at the young lady. “The woman probably misunderstands,” he murmured. The young lady blushed slightly. The Inspector’s wife advanced with a threatening demeanour. “Who are you?” she asked abruptly. “I, madam,” began the Duke, “am the----” “I don’t see that it matters who we are,” interposed the young lady. “Possibly not,” admitted the Duke, with a smile. The young lady rose, went to a little mirror that hung on the wall, and adjusted the curls which appeared from under the brim of her hat. “Dear me,” said she, turning round with a sigh, “it must be nearly three o’clock, and my aunt always likes me to be in before daybreak.” The stout woman gasped again. “Because of the neighbours, you know,” said the young lady with a smile. “Just so,” assented the Duke, and possibly he would have added more, had not the woman uttered an inarticulate cry and pointed to his feet.