“Mind,” he continued, after a pause devoted to reflection which appeared to be neither deep nor painful, for he smiled as he gazed across the hazy marshes, “mind, I am no enthusiast, as you yourself have observed. I plead no cause. She was not my Queen, Marquis, and France is not my country. I endeavour to look at the matter with the eye of common-sense and wisdom. And I cannot forget that Marie Antoinette was at bay: all her senses, all her wit alert. She can only have thought of her children. Human nature would dictate such thoughts. One cannot forget that she had devoted friends, and that these friends possessed unlimited money. Do you think, Marquis, that any one man of that rabble was above the reach--of money?” And Mr. Dormer Colville's reflective smile, as he gazed at the distant sea, would seem to indicate that, after a considerable experience of men and women, he had reluctantly arrived at a certain conclusion respecting them. “No man born of woman, Marquis, is proof against bribery or flattery--or both.” “One can believe anything that is bad of such dregs of human-kind, my friend,” said Monsieur de Gemosac, contemptuously. “I speak to one,” continued Colville, “who has given the attention of a lifetime to the subject. If I am wrong, correct me. What I have been told is that a man was found who was ready, in return for a certain sum paid down, to substitute his own son for the little Dauphin--to allow his son to take the chance of coming alive out of that predicament. One can imagine that such a man could be found in France at that period.” Monsieur de Gemosac turned, and looked at his companion with a sort of surprise. “You speak as if in doubt, Monsieur Colville,” he said, with a sudden assumption of that grand manner with which his father had faced the people on the Place de la Revolution--had taken a pinch of snuff in the shadow of the guillotine one sunny July day. “You speak as if in doubt. Such a man was found. I have spoken with him: I, who speak to you.” CHAPTER IV. THE MARQUIS'S CREED Dormer Colville smiled doubtfully. He was too polite, it seemed, to be sceptical, and by his attitude expressed a readiness to be convinced as much from indifference as by reasoning. “It is intolerable,” said the Marquis de Gemosac, “that a man of your understanding should be misled by a few romantic writers in the pay of the Orleans.” “I am not misled, Marquis; I am ignorant,” laughed Colville. “It is not always the same thing.” Monsieur de Gemosac threw away his cigarette and turned eagerly toward his companion. “Listen,” he said. “I can convince you in a few words.” And Colville leaned back against the weather-worn seat with the air of one prepared to give a post-prandial attention.