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  Miss Challoner hesitated, mindful of his lordship’s instructions, but at that moment the traveller said in a placid voice: “I regret, my good fellows, that I do not understand more than one word in ten of your extremely obliging advice, but I am English—Anglais, vous savez, and I do not speak French. Ne comprenny pas.”

  Miss Challoner’s motherly instincts were aroused. She moved forward. “If I could be of assistance, sir?”

  The neat gentleman turned quickly, and executed a bow. “You are very kind, madam. I find myself unable to converse with these fellows. It is amazing to me that amongst them all there is not one with a knowledge of the English tongue.”

  Miss Challoner smiled. “It is most reprehensible, sir, I agree. But if you will explain your difficulties to me, I may be able to interpret them to the landlord.”

  “I shall be excessively indebted to you, ma’am. Permit me to make myself known to you. My name is Comyn, and I have but this moment landed from the packet. It is my intention to travel by the stage-coach to Paris, and I was endeavouring when you came upon me to ascertain from these fellows when and where I may find the diligence.”

  “I will ask Plançon,” said Miss Challoner, and turned to the landlord.

  Perceiving that she had constituted herself interpreter, M. Plangon opened negotiations with an impassioned plea to be preserved from these mad Englishmen who expected honest Frenchmen to understand their own barbarous language—and this in France, voyez-vous!

  At the end of an animated dialogue lasting for five minutes, Miss Challoner was able to inform Mr. Comyn that the diligence would start for Paris in an hour’s time, and from this very inn.

  Mr. Comyn thanked her, and begged that she would add to her kindness by informing the landlord that he required dinner immediately.

  Cheered by this information, M. Plançon disappeared to execute the order, and his hirelings drifted away upon their respective businesses.

  Mr. Comyn said that he had been prodigiously fortunate to have found a countrywoman in Dieppe, and inquired politely whether Miss Challoner was also bound for Paris.

  Miss Challoner replied tranquilly that her plans were uncertain, and was about to retreat to the shelter of the parlour when Timms came down the stairs, bowed to her and said with distressing clarity: “His lordship’s compliments, madam, and he will do himself the honour of dining with you at five o’clock.”

  Miss Challoner blushed scarlet, felt herself quite unable to meet Mr. Comyn’s look of mild surprise, and fled.

  Ten minutes later, one of the inn-servants scratched at Vidal’s door, and upon being bidden to come in, presented his lordship with a note.

  Vidal was seated before the dressing-table. He took the note and read in Miss Challoner’s handwriting: “Pray, my lord, be careful. There is an Englishman here, of the name of Comyn. I fear I have been indiscreet, but I was obliged to speak with him, and while I was still in his company, your message was delivered to me, so that I was quite undone.”

  My lord swore softly and appeared to meditate for a moment. Then he tore up the note and resumed his toilet. In a few minutes he was ready, and made his way downstairs to the coffee-room. Mr. Comyn was standing by the window, consulting his watch. He looked up as the Marquis came in, and exclaimed: “Lord Vidal! So it was—” He broke off, and coughed.

  “It was,” said his lordship. “But why in the fiend’s name you must needs come to Dieppe is a matter passing my comprehension.”

  “I cannot conceive why it should pass your comprehension, sir,” replied Mr. Comyn. “Considering that it was yourself who told me to journey to France.”

  “I seem to spend my time telling people to do things I have not the smallest desire they should do,” said the Marquis bitterly. “Mr. Comyn, you have, I think, met a lady in this inn.”

  “I have, sir.”

  The Marquis said: “Contrive to forget it”

  “Certainly,” said Mr. Comyn, bowing.

  Vidal smiled. “Egad, I’m beginning to like you, my prospective relative. That lady is shortly to become my wife.”

  “You surprise me,” said Mr. Comyn truthfully.

  “I am sure I do. Permit me to inform you that her presence in this inn is due, not to her own choice, but to my forcible abduction of her. She is a lady of unimpeachable virtue, and I shall be obliged if you will forget that you have ever seen her in my company.”

  “Sir,” said Mr. Comyn, a stickler for exactitude, “I never have seen her in your company, and I have therefore nothing to forget.”

  “You’re a good fellow,” said his lordship, with unusual kindness. “I’ll trust you.” He sat himself down in the window, and favoured Mr. Comyn with a brief, unvarnished account of the happenings of the past two days.

  Mr. Comyn listened with grave attention, and remarked at the end that it was an edifying story. He added that he was honoured by his lordship’s confidence, and begged to proffer his felicitations upon his approaching nuptials.

  “Oh, go to the devil!” snapped the Marquis, exasperated.

  Chapter IX

  His lordship’s remarks to Miss Challoner on the impropriety and folly of addressing strangers in French inns were caustic and denunciatory, but had no visible effect upon the lady. She continued to eat her dinner, lending no more than a polite ear to his homily, and appeared to consider Mr. Comyn’s inability to speak French an adequate excuse. My lord speedily undeceived her. “You do not seem to me to comprehend the extreme delicacy of your situation,” he said.

  Miss Challoner subjected a dish of sweetmeats to close inspection, and finally selected the best of them. “I do,” she replied. “I have had plenty of time for reflection, my lord, and I cannot but realize that I’ve not a shred of reputation left to me.”

  The Marquis laughed. “You’re mighty cool over it, ma’am.”

  “You should be glad of that,” Miss Challoner said serenely. “The task of conveying to Paris a female suffering from a series of strong hysterics would, I imagine, be vastly distasteful to you.”

  “It would,” said the Marquis with conviction.

  “Moreover,” pursued Miss Challoner, once more inspecting the dish of sweetmeats, “I cannot discover that a display of agitation on my part would achieve much beyond my own exhaustion and your annoyance.” She bit into a sugar plum. “Also,” she said meditatively, “you have upon several occasions threatened me with extreme violence, so that I should be excessively fearful of the results of driving you to distraction.”

  The Marquis brought his open hand down upon the table, and the glasses jumped. “Don’t lie!” he said. “You are not in the least afraid of what I may do to you! Are you?”

  “Not at the moment, sir,” she admitted. “But when you have broached your second bottle, I own to some qualms.”

  “Let me inform you, ma’am, that I am not considered dangerous until the third bottle.”

  Miss Challoner looked at him with a faint smile. “My lord,” she said frankly, “you become dangerous immediately your will is crossed. I find you spoiled, impetuous, and shockingly overbearing.”

  “Thank you,” said his lordship. “Perhaps you prefer the sedate demeanour of your friend Mr. Comyn?”

  “He seemed to be a gentleman of ordinary propriety, certainly,” concurred Miss Challoner.

  “I, on the other hand, am a gentleman of extraordinary impropriety, of course.”

  “Oh, not a gentleman, sir, a nobleman,” said Miss Challoner with irony.

  “You hit hard, ma’am. Pray, was there anything else in Mr. Comyn that you found worthy of remark?”

  “To be sure, sir. His manners were of the most amiable.”

  “I’ve none at all,” said his lordship blandly. “Being a nobleman, ma’am, I don’t need ’em. Pray let me pass you this second, dish of comfits which has apparently escaped your notice.”

  “Thank you,” said Miss Challoner.

  The Marquis sipped his wine, watching her over the rim of his glass. “I think