Part 9 — CHAPTER VI.

The ceremony in the town-hall passed off with the greatest éclât; and the dinner was probably thought the finest part of the day's entertainment by all but the newly re-established noble himself. Flushed with the glories of the proceeding, and also with the wine he had swallowed to his own health and happiness, he sallied forth with his friends of the preceding day—except, of course, the Baron Beauvilliers—and, as he himself expressed it, was awake for anything, up to any lark.

"A lark, says my lord?" inquired the Duke de Vieuxchateau.

"Ay," replied the marquis, "if it's as big as a turkey, all the better. That champaign is excellent tipple, and would be cheap at eighty-four shillings per dozen."

The French nobles did not quite understand their companion's phraseology, but were quite willing to join him in any extravagance.

"What shall we do?" cried one; "shall we break open the jail?"

"No," said De Bouillon: "hang it! that's a serious matter. But I'll tell you what, I've no objection to knock down a charley."

"No, no! let's go to Rouge et Noir."

"Boys, boys!" at last exclaimed the Vicomte de Lanoy, "I'll tell you what we shall do,—Beauvilliers told me that, while we were all engaged at the dinner, he was going to seize a beautiful creature, and carry her off to the Parc d'Amour."

"Wrong, decidedly wrong!" said De Bouillon at this proposition. "Who is she?"

"Why, the companion, you understand, of an old twaddling fool, who has no right to so much beauty. Beauvilliers did not tell me his name, but 'tis only one of the bourgeoisie, and we surely have a right to do as we like with them."

"Ah yes! of course," replied De Bouillon, "I did not think of that. What then?"

"Why, sir, we shall play as good a trick on Beauvilliers as he designed for the ancient gentleman. Let's get there before him, and carry her from him!"

"Agreed, agreed!"

"No, no, I must declare off," said the marquis. "'Tis a bad business altogether, and this would make it worse."

"But who is to carry the lady?" inquired the duke, without attending to the scruples of his friend.

"Toss for it," suggested the vicomte. A louis was thrown into the air. "Heads! heads!" cried the nobleman. "Tails!" said De Bouillon.

"'Tis tails!" exclaimed the vicomte. "Marquis, the chance is yours—you've won."

"Oh! have I?" replied the unwilling favourite of fortune; "I've won, have I?"

"You don't seem overpleased with your good luck," said the duke; "give me your chance, and I shall know how to make better use of it."

"No, gentlemen, I'll manage this affair myself."

"Come on, then!—vive la joie!"—and with great joviality they pursued their way to the Parc d'Amour.

But they had been preceded in their journey to that hostelry by Louise, attended by Cecil Hope and Mr Cocker. By the administration of a douceur to the waiter, they obtained an entrée to the apartment designed for the baron and his prey, and had scarcely time to ensconce themselves behind the window-curtain, when Miss Lucretia was escorted into the room. There were no symptoms of any violent resistance to her captors having been offered, and she took her seat on the sofa without any perceptible alarm.

"Well, them's curious people, them French!" she soliloquised when the men had left her. "If that 'ere baron fell in love with a body, couldn't he say so without all that rigmarole about Mr Bullion's behaviour, and pulling a body nearly to pieces? I'm sure if he had axed me in a civil way, I wouldn't have said no. But, lawkins! here he comes."

So saying, she enveloped herself in Louise's shawl, and pulled Louise's bonnet farther on her face, and prepared to enact the part of an offended, yet not altogether unforgiving beauty. But the door, on being slowly opened, presented, not the countenance of the baron, but the anxious face of Mr Bullion himself. The three French nobles pushed him forward. "Go on," they said; "make the best use of your eloquence. We will watch here, and guard the door against Beauvilliers himself."

The marquis, now thoroughly sobered, slowly advanced: "If I can save this poor creature from the insolence of those roués, it will be well worth the suffering it has cost. Trust to me, madam," he said, in a very gentle voice, to the lady: "I will not suffer you to be insulted while I live. Come with me, madam, and you shall not be interrupted by ever a French profligate alive." On looking closely at the still silent lady on the sofa, he was startled at recognising a dress with which he was well acquainted.

"In the name of heaven!" he said, "I adjure you to tell me who you are. Are you—is it possible—can you be my Louise!"

"No, Mr Bullion," replied Miss Lucretia, lifting up the veil, and turning round to the trembling old man. "And I must say I'm considerably surprised to find you in a situation like this."

"And you, madam—yourself—how came you here?"

"A young gentleman—nobleman, I should say—ran off with me here, and I expected him every minute when you came in."

"And Louise?" inquired the father, in an agitated voice—"when did you leave her? Oh! my folly to let her a moment out of my sight!—to reject Cecil Hope!—to bedizen myself in this ridiculous fashion! Where, oh where is Louise?"

"Here, sir," exclaimed that lady, coming forward from behind the window-curtain.

"And safe? Ah! but I need not ask. I see two honest Englishmen by your side."

"And one of them, sir, says he'll never leave it," said Louise.

"Stop a moment," replied the marquis. "Ho! gentlemen, come in."

At his request his companions entered the room.

"Gentlemen," said the marquis, "when I determined to reclaim my father's sword, I expected to find it bright as Bayard's, and unstained with infamy or dishonour. When I wished to resume my title, I hoped to find it a sign of the heroic virtues of my ancestors, but not a cloak for falsehood and vice. I warn you, sirs, your proceedings will be fatal to your order, and to your country. For myself, I care not for this sword,"—he threw it on the ground—"this filagree I despise,"—he took off his star and ribbon—"and I advise you to leave this chamber as fast as you can find it convenient."

The French nobles obeyed.

"Here, Cocker! off with all this silk and satin; get me my gaiters and flaxen wig; and, please Heaven, one week will see us in the little room above the warehouse."

"Preparing, sir, to move into Hertfordshire?" inquired Louise, leaning on Cecil's arm.

"Ay, my child; and, in remembrance of this adventure, we shall hang up among the pictures in the hall,

The Sword of Honour."