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once, in his life been to the Italian Opera in London. It had been on the occasion of the performance of one of those rare queens of song whose name is yet melodious in men's ears-melodious as that not only of a sweet singer, but of a good and charitable woman. Royalty had been present on that occasion, and one of Guy's newly acquired coat tails had nearly parted company from its fellow in the crush. When the mass of anxious auditors had drifted and subsided into some order in the pit, and, punctually at the time fixed for commencement of the performance, the Royal box was occupied. Guy gazed with admiration on a fair and gracious lady in the central seat in the box, in whose animated conversation with her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent, who sat with her back to the stage, he saw more to attract, but far less to awe, than he had expected to witness in the Queen. His attention was presently withdrawn by the liquid tones of the singer, and it was not till fully twenty minutes after the commencement of the opera, that, at the conclusion of a solo, he became aware of an entirely novel sensation.

At the left-his left-of the box, and therefore fronting the stage, he became suddenly conscious of the presence of a profile. The

curtains threw shadow around it. The heat of the house, perhaps the perfume of the flowers, which lay thickly strewn over the velvet cushion on the edge of the box, had given somewhat a flushed appearance to the face. Guy felt a sort of creeping, dreamy, awed sensation. Then he had a kind of nightmare consciousness of the presence of something living with which he was familiar as wrought in gold or in silver. Then he became aware that the silent, motionless, regal

outline was that of the Queen of a sixth part of the human race.

He felt something of a return of this emotion on looking at the blacksmith in the gloomy workshop in Camberwell.

Most Englishmen know, Guy knew well, the marked and characteristic outline which, slightly varied in the coins and statues of the 13th, 14th, 15th, and 16th Louis, has defined the profile of the kings of France since the time of the Victor of Ivry. Such was the profile which met his eye as the Duke of Gascony turned towards his visitors.

The Duke's attire was almost that of a common workman. His hands were black and grimy from his work. There was nothing in the scene, save the statuesque and noble figure of the Duc de Beaupreau, that might not have been present in the Plumville brass foundry. But Guy instinctively made to that toil-stained mechanic such a reverence as he would have paid at St. James's.

The air of the Duke of Gascony was frank, gracious, and condescending. That sackcloth and ashes, or rather fustian and brass filings, were ignoble, if he wore them, never for a moment entered his thoughts.

May I present to you Mr. Laval Carrington, sir," said Lord Wilfred, with a second reverence.

"Votre nom historique m'est cher," said the mechanic. "Pardonnez moi si j'oublie l'addition Anglaise. Il y a trop peu des de Laval. Lord Wilfred, voyez donc mon dernier succès."

The success was a small brass cannon, beautifully turned, about thirty inches long, and with a bore somewhat larger than that of an old English musket. The mechanic pointed out to Guy, with perfect mastery of the subject, the merits of the invention, and, as a proof

that he had entirely vanquished the difficulty of recoil, proposed to fire the little weapon while Guy held it in his hands. Guy, with a dim idea that he should be infallibly blown to pieces, submitted to the honour. The maker proceeded to load, but when he had completed the operation the Marquis de la Fère stepped forward. "Ceci me regards, monseigneur," said he, and took the miniature weapon to the open window.

The mechanic laid one hand on the handle of a pair of smith's bellows, and with the other put the end of an iron rod in the fire, which he then chafed. Still talking to Guy, he watched the rod till the end was heated, withdrew it scintillating and throwing out a whitish light from the hearth, walked to the window, and applied it to the touch-hole.

The piece went off with a loud explosion, and filled the shop for a few seconds with smoke, and with that perfume so grateful to some men, to Guy among the others, the fumes of freshly burnt gunpowder. The Marquis de la Fère had not moved a single muscle.

"Allons-donc, Monseur Laval, la prochaine fois vous ferez l'expérience vous-même," said the artillerist. "Si vous aviez du temps pour me suivre, je vais vous presenter à ma famille," and he moved towards the door, without looking to see who followed.

Louis de Bourbon led the way, followed first, according to the silent indication of the Duc de Beaupreau by Guy, then by the Duc, then by Lord Wilfred, and last by the Marquis de la Fère, into a large drawing-room occupied evidently as a family apartment. A short, stout, unnoteworthy German woman sat in a high-backed chair knitting; only one other chair was in the room, and that was a large fauteuil; but there were a good many stools.

On the stools, on the windowsill, and on the floor, were six or seven children, most of them girls, head below head, engaged in different occupations. All rose as the door opened, except the lady knitting, who looked up; all but a little boy engaged in an encounter with a small Skye terrier on the floor, who exclaimed, "Mon papa, mon papa, je vais tuer Tontonparcequi'l cet méchant. Donnezmoi donc votre épée, Beaupreau!" "Laissez donc Tonton un peu à ma justice," replied his father. "L'épée de monsieur le duc est a moi-seul. Madame, je vous presente Monsieur de Laval. Aimée, où est donc Mademoiselle?"

The eldest of the five daughters left the room by a door opposite to that by which the party entered. The door re-opened, and admitted two other young ladies.

It will spare a description, which might, if given, be inadequate, to ask the reader to recal to mind a full-length portrait of the lovely and murdered queen, Marie Antoinette. Not that sad but noble figure which a modern French artist has designed of the victim on the passage to the guillotine, in the character of saint and martyr, but the brighter, gayer, lovelier charm of the Dauphiness, or the young Queen, to whom even the surly minister could not forbear the homage, when she called his attention to her plain green slippers.

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Madame, vous avez l'univers à vos pieds." Remember such a picture, if you have seen it; seek to view it, if you know it not. It was the living original of that picture that now entered the apartment.

With her was a girl some two years younger, unlike ber in everything but her queenly bearing, which, in the second, was blended with a certain amount of archness and malice. The colour of her cheeks was a much brighter red,

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"C'est le nom propre des De Laval, Antoinette," said the father. "Guy premier fut du temps de Charlemagne."

Some further conversation ensued, no one speaking except when addressed by the Duc de Gascoyne; the result being that, if Guy would remain a few days in London, he should receive letters of introduction from the Duc de Beaupreau to some of the old Legitimist leaders in France. Emboldened by an offer which SO thoroughly enchanted him, Guy ventured to request the name of the Duc Matthieu de Montmorency, curious to see a man for whom he had himself been mistaken.

"Comment donc?" said the master of the house. "C'est longtemps qu'il n'y a pas de Mat

thieu de Montmorenci." Guy could not conceal his astonishment from eyes that seemed to read thoughts without needing the intervention of language.

66

Qui vous a parlé d'un Matthieu de Montmorenci ?" asked Marie Therese, but not as if she expected any reply.

Lord Wilfred looked out of window.

The Duc de Gascoyne proceeded to explain, in a prompt, decisive manner, the state of that great princely family, then verging to extinction, of which Laval was a branch. "There are but four male descendants of the great Constable living," he explained. "Anne-Raoul, Duc de Montmorency, is in his sixty-third year; Charles, Duc de Luxembourg, is upwards of eighty; Anne-Edouard, Duc de Beaumont, and his brother Anne Charles, Prince de Tingry, are about fifty; and the Laval branch now only is represented by females. Duc Matthieu de Montmorency Laval died in 1826. One naturally remembers these circumstances, for all who have at heart the welfare of France must view with regret the approaching extinction of the male line of the first Christian baron, which nothing but the special interposition of the Blessed. Virgin could avert-an interposition which no good Christian would hold to be impossible, but of which no promise had been held out.

Guy was evidently struck by the minute information thus kindly given. "Ce n'est pas le seule fois que l'on vous verra, Monsieur de Laval," concluded his informant, "Je vous recommende à Dieu."

Guy, rather astonished in his ignorance at being dismissed without having made that first movement which he now begun to think he had clumsily delayed, then respectfully took his departure.

CHAPTER LI.

THE BIRD ESCAPES.

"ONE of the pleasantest kings I know," said Lord Wilfred. "Carrington, you prefer a hansom. Hi!"

Up drove an empty cab. Lord Wilfred got in. "Come," said he.

"Good morning, my lord," said Guy. "I am going the other way. Cab!" and he, too, got into a hansom.

“Where to, sir?" said Lord Wilfred's driver. "To?"-said his Lordship, "eh ? to Parliamentstreet."

Lord Wilfred gracefully descended from his vehicle at the door of the office of Mr. Setter, which was on the first floor, over a shop. He walked quietly upstairs, humming an air from the reigning opera. He walked through the room occupied by one or two clerks without any reply to their inquiries as to who he wanted except a friendly nod, and he opened the door of the sanctum of Mr. Setter.

That gentleman was seated in a round, cane-backed but leatherbottomed chair, at an open bureau. Close by him was a man with something of the aspect of a gamekeeper, who was reading out of a red memorandum book.

"Wait till you're disengaged, Setter," said Lord Wilfred, carelessly.

Mr. Setter rose with an alacrity the more remarkable on account of his bulk. "Come this way a minute," said he, plunging his country friend into a sort of cupboard or closet, to which he gained entrance through a door covered with green baize. The door had no lock, only a brass handle; but it had a small brass bolt outside, which Mr. Setter noiselessly slipped when he had seen the countryman seated on the only chair in the

light closet. Then he returned to his seat, and looked at Lord Wilfred, with his head a little on one side.

"Setter," said his Lordship," the infallible consequence of my setting eyes on your venerable person is, that I feel impelled to make moral remarks in fact, to moralise. Nothing is so unsafe as success."

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No one is better acquainted with that fact than myself," said Mr. Setter. “I think, too, that that is my thunder, if you will allow the observation. I know the ear-mark."

"Take it, and welcome," said Lord Wilford. "Remembering the origin of the term ear-mark, I freely abandon to you all and every to which the adjective applies. I see you are busy. Good day."

"Good day," said Setter. "I'm always busy

"And not one single interrogative?" said Lord Wilfred.

"I never waste words," said Setter. "When you have invented what you came to say you will say it."

"When I say that success is dangerous," resumed Lord Wilfred, "I mean this-Setter, have you a demi-verre at hand?”

Mr. Setter supplied the want out of some convenient receptacle. "Fil en quatre," said Lord Wilfred, tossing off the little glass of cognac.

"When you find that a plan, originated by genius, matured by counsel, incepted under the happiest auspices, triumphant up to the last minute but one of its execution, collapses at that last half minute, then you will admit the propriety of the remark."

"I saw that it had collapsed," said Setter.

"And you utter now the natural language of that exemplary bird the raven," said Lord Wilfred.

"Well, Setter, it was true. The one gift which men say is so divine, which did so much for a fellow named Shakespeare, has been the bane of my life."

"Integrity?" said Mr. Setter, with no expression at all on his face.

"Imagination," said his Lordship. Pictoribus atque poetis. Never did I so inspire myself. Setter, all went on exactly as you pointed out. I was airing myself before the fire-for there was a fire, actually," said Lord Wilfred. "Morning damp, I suppose. I was airing myself before the fire with a newspaper for a parapet, when down he comes, looking like-like -a very highly developed goose. He begins, in a helpless way, to attempt to supply the wants of nature. A sudden inspiration. urged me. A coup worthy of yourself. The Duc de Montmorency?' says I. No, I beg pardon, I thought it was never saw two men more alike.' Setter, I tell you he fell so plump and dead into the trap that I felt ashamed of myself for setting my brain against that of such an exceedingly domestic young gentleman."

"Well ?" said Mr. Setter.

"Well! I wish it was well!" continued his Lordship. "It was not only well, but unsurpassable, at unsurpassable, at first. Capital breakfast - lively chat-France and Frenchmen talked of quite naturally. 'Le Roi d'Yvetot' slid on the tapis so that you would not know how he came there immense greenhorn interest -hansom cab-and the killing civility of old Beaupreau."

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Well," continued Lord Wilfred, holding up the liqueur glass between his eye and the light—not upright, but so as to look down into it as if it were a telescope. 'Still, all was superb. The Most Christian was extremely condescending, fired his gun, and summoned

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the Princess. Damme, Setter," broke out Lord Wilfred, "if I had an empire, I should fling it at that woman's feet!"

"Better without it, then," quoth Setter.

Lord Wilfred gave vent to a little splutter of expletives, just to cool himself. "Well," he resumed, "the long and the short of it is, Master Wheyface was in the seventy-seventh heaven, and just as I was wanting to get off-for your friend keeps up the etiquette of dismissing one-what must he do?— I could laugh even now to remember his face-but asks the Most Christian who was the Duke Matthieu de Montmorency."

"H'm," said Setter.

"It seems he died in 1826," said Lord Wilfred. "Might have got over the name, you know; but hang me if the Most Christian did not improve the occasion for a lecture on genealogy, cast up all the Lavals. and devils to Adam, and concluded that there were only four old men on crutches, for one of whom I could have mistaken Miss Guy." Awkward," quoth Setter. "How did he take it?"

"Like a like you, Setter," groaned Lord Wilfred. "As if nothing had happened. Was just thinking he was too much flabbergasted by the Princess to have heard, and revolving further movements when, as I got into the cab, 'Good day,' says he, 'I'm going the other way,' and left me planté là."

"And now," said Lord Wilfred, after a pause," I have made a clean breast of it, and I suppose I may go to the devil."

"Wilfred," said Mr. Setter, with great tenderness of manner, "as I said before, I am extremely busy just now; but if you would make it convenient to look in a little before six, I am going to take your advice and dine at Greenwich, and it will give me great pleasure if

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