Petticoat Rule Part 40

"Then why don't you go in as usual?"

"I . . . I can't!"

"Why not?"

"I . . . I don't know. . . . I seemed to hear such a funny sound as if . . ." he paused a moment searching for the words that would best render his impression of what he had heard. Finding none apparently, he reiterated:

"It is a very funny sound."

"Perhaps milor was asleep and snoring," suggested the practical Achille.

"No, no," protested Durand very energetically.

"Or ill . . ."

"Ah yes! . . . perhaps . . ." stammered the little man, "perhaps milor is ill."

"Then I'll to him at once."

And before M. Durand could prevent him--which undoubtedly he would have done--Achille had gone back to the study door and loudly knocked thereat.

At first there was no answer. M. Achille knocked again, and yet again, until a voice from within suddenly said:

"Who is it?"

"Achille, M. le Marquise!" responded the worthy with alacrity.

"I want nothing," said the voice. "Tell Durand that I shall not need him to-night."

M. Durand nearly dropped his heavy books on the floor.

"Not want me!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed; "we shall get terribly in arrears!"

"Will milor go to bed?" again queried M. Achille.

"No!" came somewhat impatiently from within. "Do not wait up for me.

If I want you later I will ring."

Achille looked at M. Durand and the worthy Baptiste returned the look of puzzlement and wonder. Both shrugged their shoulders.

"There's nothing to be done, my good Baptiste," said Achille at last; "you had best take your paraphernalia away and go to bed. I know that tone of voice, I have heard it once before when . . . but never mind that," he added abruptly checking himself, as if he feared to commit an indiscretion, "enough that I know if milor says, in that tone of voice, that he does not want you and that you are to go away--well then, my good Durand, he does not want you and you are to go away.

. . . Do you see?"

And having delivered himself of this phrase of unanswerable logic he pointed toward the door.

M. Durand was about to take his friend's sound advice, when a loud ring broke in upon the silence which had fallen over this portion of the stately palace.

"A visitor at this late hour," mused Monsieur Achille. "Ma foi!

methinks perhaps milor was expecting a fair and tardy visitor. . . .

eh, M. Durand? . . . and that perhaps this was the reason why you and I were to go away . . . eh? . . . and why you were not wanted to-night, . . . What?"

M. Durand was doubtful as to that, but there was no time to discuss that little matter, for a second ring, louder and more peremptory than the first, caused M. Achille to pull himself together, to flick at his cravat, and to readjust the set of his coat, whilst M. Durand loath to retire before he knew something of the tardy visitor, withdrew with books, bag and papers into a dark corner of the room.

Already the sound of approaching footsteps drew nearer; the visitor had been admitted and was now being escorted through the reception rooms by the two footmen carrying torches. The next moment the doors leading to the official suite of apartments were thrown open, M.

Achille put himself in position in the centre of the room, whilst a loud voice from the distant hall announced:

"M. le Marquis de Belle-Isle! M. le Comte de Lugeac!"

Achille's broad back was bent nearly double. The names were well known to him and represented, if not exactly the flower of aristocratic France, at least the invisible power which swayed her destinies. M. le Marquis de Belle-Isle was Madame de Pompadour's best friend, and M. de Lugeac was her nephew.

"Your master . . . is he within?"

It was M. de Belle-Isle who spoke; his voice was loud and peremptory, the voice of a man who only recently had been in a position to command.

"Milor is . . . er . . . within, M. le Marquis," said Achille with slight hesitation. It is not often that he was taken aback when in the exercise of his duties, but the situation was undoubtedly delicate, and he had not yet made up his mind exactly how he ought to deal with it.

Neither of the two gentlemen, however, seemed to have any intention of leaving him much longer in doubt.

"Go and tell him at once," said M. de Lugeac, "that Monsieur le Marquis de Belle-Isle and myself will have to trouble him for about two minutes."

Then as Achille seemed to be hesitating--for he did not move with any alacrity and his well-kept hand stroked his smooth, heavy chin--M. de Belle-Isle added more loudly:

"Go knave! and at once. . . . Par le diable, man! . . . how dare you hesitate?"

Indeed Monsieur Achille dared do that no longer. M. le Marquis de Belle-Isle was not a gentleman to be trifled with so he shrugged his majestic shoulders, and rubbed his hands together in token that the affair had pa.s.sed out of their keeping, and that he no longer held himself responsible for any unpleasant consequences which might accrue from such unparalleled intrusion.

He strode with becoming majesty to the study door, his broad, straight back emphasising the protest of his whole att.i.tude. Once more he knocked, but more loudly, less diffidently than before.

The voice from within queried with marked impatience:

"What is it now?"

"An urgent call, Monsieur le Marquis!" replied Achille in a firm voice.

"I can see no one. I am busy," said the voice from within.

M. de Belle-Isle felt that this little scene was not quite dignified; neither he nor M. de Lugeac was accustomed to stand behind a lacquey's back, parleying with a man through closed doors: therefore when Monsieur Achille turned to him now with a look which strove to indicate respectfully but firmly that the incident was closed, he pushed him roughly aside and himself called loudly:

"Pardi, Marquis, methinks you are over-anxious to forbid your door to-night. I, Andre de Belle-Isle and my friend le Comte de Lugeac desire a word with you. We represent M. le Comte de Stainville, and unless you are closeted with a lady, I summon you to open this door."

Then as the door remained obstinately closed--too long at any rate for M. le Marquis's impatience--he boldly placed his hand on the k.n.o.b and threw it open. The heavy panels flew back, revealing Lord Eglinton sitting at his secretaire writing. His head was resting on his hand, but he turned to look at the two gentlemen, as they stood, momentarily silent and subdued in the doorway itself. He rose to greet them, but stared at them somewhat astonished and not a little haughtily, and he made no motion requesting them to enter.

"We crave your pardon, milor," began Monsieur de Belle-Isle, feeling, as he afterward explained, unaccountably bashful and crestfallen, "we would not have intruded, M. de Lugeac and I, only that there was a slight formality omitted this evening without which we cannot proceed and which we must pray you to fulfill."

"What formality, Monsieur?" asked milor courteously. "I am afraid I do not understand."

"The whole incident occurred very rapidly, we must admit," continued M. de Belle-Isle still standing in the doorway, still unwilling apparently to intrude any further on this man whom he had known for some time, yet who seemed to have become an utter stranger to him now: haughty, grave and courteous, with an extraordinary look of aloofness in the face which repelled the very suggestion of familiarity. "And that is no doubt the reason, milor, why you omitted to name your seconds to Monsieur de Stainville."

"My seconds?" repeated milor. "I am afraid you must think me very stupid . . . but I still do not understand . . ."