“A woman, child? To be sure; and I had thought it enough to appeal to the woman in you; the daughter first of all. How we had laboured for this alliance, prayed for it, rejoiced at last in its reality--ah, mon Dieu, you cannot know! And yet you should know. It has been the hope of our maturity; our comfort and solace in our days of bitter trial. It was to set us right with the world, to relieve us of our embarrassments, to enable us to do justice at last to the many poor souls long devoted to our fortunes. And with you it rested to be the almoner to all these pathetic needs.” “Father--no! You kill me with your words!” “Kill you? Ah, child, what if it kill your mother, in the frail state she is in, to learn of this final blow to her hopes?” She had thrown her arms, as she knelt, across a chair, and now laid her face on them, abandoned to hopeless grief. “Am I to speak her death-sentence then?” asked the duke, in a broken whisper. Her face still hidden, she held out her poor left hand. Understanding, he slipped the ring upon the quivering finger, and, wise in the resolve to let well alone, went softly from the room, and left her to her despair. In the corridor outside he came upon M. la Coque, who scanned his agitated face with a furtive curiosity. The duke motioned his favourite to follow him, and led the way into his private closet, where he threw himself into a chair, and began to fan his brow exhaustedly with his handkerchief. “Charlot,” he said presently, looking up from under languid lids: “is the door shut?” “It is fast, monseigneur.” The duke signed to him to come nearer. “You were witness of her reception of the pledge?” “Of the Infanta’s?” “Now who else? The Infanta’s, of course. Well, how did it strike you?” “That mademoiselle, perhaps, made a little light of the gift.” The duke dabbed his forehead, and sat up suddenly, with a sigh. “Charlot?” “Your Highness?” “What was that you once hinted to me about someone’s art with a little a?” “Your Highness thought fit at the time--very properly, I am sure--to reprove me for what was merely an idle speculation.” “Very likely. You declined to state your authority, if I remember. Do you still?” “That must be conditional.” “On what?” “On your condonation of a certain liaison.” “Well, well. Who is the other party to it, Charlot?” “I must crave your Highness’s absolution.” “You have it, coquin.” “It is Fanchette Becquet, then--the Infanta’s first femme de confiance.” “Ah, rogue!” The duke frowned--then sighed again. “That is to bring corruption very near the fount of innocence.” “Not corruption, monsieur, but salvation. If I have sacrificed myself to serve your Highness----” “O--la--la! O to be sure! You are a very disinterested scamp. But that sort of sacrifice will never get you into heaven. And what was innocence doing to risk its salvation, my friend?” “Has your Highness formed no opinion?” The duke shrugged his shoulders, pettishly, wearifully.