"Faith, that can I not. I come, Jules, I come! François, thou rogue, my snuff-box! Would that he may be wearing that salmon-pink! François, my cane! Jules, you are sitting on my cloak! _Sangdieu!_ My new cloak!" He swept De Bergeret off the coat, and shook out the soft, rose-lined folds. "God be praised, it is unhurt!" With a deft movement he swung it over his shoulders and fastened it. "My hat! Jules, what think you of my hat?" "A grey hat! Philippe, what an audacity! You are really coming to De Farraud's?" "To meet the so dear M. Bancroft. _En avant, Jules!_" De Bergeret went to the glass. "Cultivate a more restful manner, _mon petit_! I am not to be hurried. Do you like this mixture of violet and cream?" "I like everything you have on, even the so badly arranged cravat! I am consumed with impatience! Come!" "But why? Are you hasting to see the unspeakable Bancroft?" "But yes! Whom else? I will explain _en route_." De Bergeret suffered himself to be led to the door. "Philippe, it is not _convenable_ to display such enthusiasm. Languor is now the fashion." "I am a fashion unto myself, then. I am an original. And I go to call out M. Bancroft!" De Bergeret stopped short. "What! A brawl? No, then, I'll not come!" "A brawl? Is it possible? I shall conduct the affair with great _douceur_, I assure you! You and Saint-Dantin are to be my seconds." "_Miséricorde!_ Philippe, you become more and more tiresome!" expostulated his friend. "Why must you fight this fellow?" "An old quarrel--the settling of an unpaid score! _Allons!_" * * * * * "Oh, the devil," muttered Bancroft. "_Où donc?_" inquired Le Vallon, who was sitting next to him and who understood English. Bancroft shot an angry glance towards the door. Le Vallon turned to see what had excited his wrath. Talking to De Farraud, with many quick gestures and smiles, was Philip. He had just arrived, and he was apologizing for his lateness, throwing all the blame on De Bergeret, who accepted it meekly. "Oh, the little Englishman!" said Le Vallon scornfully. "Always late, always eccentric. And grey lace! What an affectation!" Philip cast a swift glance round the room. His eyes rested an instant on Bancroft's face, then they passed on. Two or three men called to him, and he presently went to dice with De Vangrisse. But when Le Vallon left Bancroft to join a faro group, Philip swept up his dice, and with a laughing word to De Vangrisse, promising to return, he walked over to Bancroft's table, and sat down in Le Vallon's chair with a swirl of his full skirts. Bancroft was about to rise. Astonished at Philip's sudden advent, he sank back again. "To what do I owe this honour?" he demanded. Philip dealt out the cards. "I will tell you. A hand of piquet? You will declare?" Bancroft sorted his hand rather sullenly. Not until he had declared and played his card did Philip speak again. Then he took the trick and leaned forward.