“No!” cried the Chevalier, with almost a shout. “Not if your prifate intention in goink to Pelestine iss what I think. De saint you desire to fenerate--pardon my boldness--iss it not de Queen Ernestine?” “It is,” said Cyril, not quite calmly. “Den all iss well. You merry de Queen; dere iss de position you need. Through her you are connected wid half de royal femilies off Europe. Dey must profide for her, find some post not disgraceful for you. Here it iss.” Cyril rose involuntarily from his seat, and began to walk up and down the room, while his companion, trembling with excitement, watched him narrowly. “You have taken me by surprise, Chevalier,” he said at last, returning to his place. “It was my last thought, in seeking to recall myself to the memory of the lady you mention, to better my own fortunes.” “Yes, yes; I understend det. But what do you say now?” “The matter is too complicated for me,” said Cyril idly. “I must refer it to some one who can only see one side to a question. I will take counsel with babes, and be guided by the advice they give me. Mansfield,” he stepped into the anteroom, “I want your opinion on a point of morals.” Mansfield glanced up quickly, suspecting a hidden irony in the request; but Cyril’s eyes met his gravely enough. “Suppose you had behaved badly to the woman you loved--broken her heart in fact. Oh, for pity’s sake----” as Mansfield attempted a protest, “isolate your thoughts from my niece for the moment, and imagine it possible that you could treat a woman cruelly. What would you do when you repented and wished to undo the past?” “Go to her and ask her to forgive me--if I could muster up sufficient cheek.” “Quite so. And if she refused to look at you?” “I think,” with diffidence, “I should ask her again.” “And worry her until she consented, I suppose? Well, that is not the question I wanted you to consider. Suppose a reconciliation with the lady meant the greatest possible improvement in your worldly prospects, would you still feel free to seek her forgiveness?” “I see.” It was evident that Mansfield was somewhat staggered by this view of the case. He sat silent, turning it over in his mind, for some minutes. “It would be perfectly beastly if people--or she herself--thought one had done it for the money,” he muttered at last. “Is it supposed that the lady still cares for you--I mean me--Count?” he asked suddenly. “How can I tell? Well, yes; suppose she does.” “Oh, that makes it all right, of course; if it would be a comfort to her. A man couldn’t fight shy of making what amends he could, just because of what people might say, could he? If she seemed inclined to forgive him, I suppose he would have to tell her about the money, and see what she said. If she was willing to take him on again----”