* * * * * Midway through the meal the Vicomte remembered something. He nodded across the table to Philip, who was engaged in a lively and witty argument with De Bergeret. "_A propos_, Philippe. Your so dear friend has been talking about you!" "Which so dear friend?" asked Philip. "Jules, if you maintain in the face of my exposition that Jeanne de Fontenay can rival la Salévier in the matter of--" "But attend!" insisted the Vicomte. "The Englishman--the Bancroft--_peste_, what a name for my tongue!" Philip broke off in the middle of his discourse. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "Bancroft? What does he say of me?" "A great deal, if all I hear is true." Philip set down his glass. "Indeed! Now, what might you have heard, De Ravel?" "It would appear that _ce cher_ Bancroft feels no love for you, _mon pauvre_. If De Graune is to be believed, he resents your presence here. He says he has been deceived in you. It is all very sad." "Yes," said Philip. He frowned. "Very sad. But what does he say?" "He divulges your close-guarded secret," said the Vicomte solemnly. "Oh!" Philip turned in his chair and leaned his elbows on the table. "It is possible that I shall have a word to say to M. Bancroft. Continue, Charles!" "He speaks of a lady in 'Leetle Feeteldean' who has blue, blue eyes, and--" "Shall we pass over her eyes?" smiled Philip. "But certainly! Her hair--" "And her hair? In fact, shall we pass over all her attractions?" "He is very much in love," loudly whispered De Bergeret. Philip flashed a smile at him. "Very much, Jules. Proceed, Vicomte." The Vicomte sipped his wine. "M. Bancroft, he told of your--ah--infatuation. He described the lady--oh, fully!" The thin lips were growing into a straight, smiling line, tightly compressed. Philip nodded. "_Allons! Allons!_" "Vicomte, does the gossip of the gaming-halls amuse you?" asked Saint-Dantin sharply. But the Vicomte was a mischief-loving soul. He disregarded the rebuke. "A pretty piece, he called her, but no more than a simple country wench. By name--" "Oh, have done!" exclaimed Saint-Dantin impatiently. "But no!" Philip waved him aside. "I am very interested in what M'sieur has to say." "By name, Cleone. We have it from M. Bancroft that she falls in love with him for his _beaux yeux_ and his so charming manner." "Ah!" Philip's chin sank into his cupped palms. "_Et puis?_" "It is further recorded that one M. Philippe Jettan importuned her with his clumsy attentions, so that M. Bancroft was compelled to teach this M. Philippe a sharp lesson. And when one asks, 'What of the pretty Cleone?' he shrugs his shoulders and replies, very superbly, that he wearied of her as of all others." Saint-Dantin's crisp voice cut into the sudden silence. "Philippe, fill your glass. Paul here tells me of a pass he conceived in his duel with Mardry last month. A--"