LITMIR.BIZ

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are wrong, sir; I am on duty, as the dauphiness has sent me forward to look after the relays."

      "That is different. But allow the remark that you are on paltry duty, and the young Bonnibel is shamefully treating the army——"

      "Of whom are you speaking in such terms?" interrupted Philip.

      "Oh, only of that Austrian beauty."

      Taverney turned pale as his cravat, but in his usual calm voice he said, as he caught hold of the bridle:

      "Do me the pleasure to acquaint me with your name?"

      "If you are bent upon that—I am Viscount Jean Dubarry."

      "What, brother of that notorious——"

      "Who will send you to rot in the Bastille prison, if you add a word to the adjective."

      The viscount sprang into the coach, up to the door of which went the baron's son.

      "If you do not come forth in a second I give you my word of honor that I shall run my sword through your body."

      Having hold of the door with his left hand, pulling against the viscount, he drew his sword with the other.

      "The idea!" said Chon; "this is murder. Give up the horses, Jean."

      "Oh, you threaten me, do you?" hissed the viscount, exasperated, and snatching his sword from the cushion.

      "We shall never get away at this rate," whispered Chon; "do smooth the officer down."

      "Neither violence nor gentleness will stay me in my duty," observed Taverney, politely bowing to the young woman. "Advise obedience to the gentleman, or in the name of the king, whom I represent, I shall kill him if he will fight me, or arrest him if he refuses."

      "Shall I lug him out, lieutenant?" asked the corporal, who had Taverney's half-dozen men as escort.

      "No, this is a personal quarrel," said his superior. "You need not interfere."

      There was truly no need; for, after three minutes, Jean Dubarry drew back from the conflict with Redcastle, his sleeve dyed with blood.

      "Go, sir," said the victor, "and do not play such pranks any more."

      "Tush, I pay for them," grumbled the viscount.

      Luckily three horses came in which would do for the change, and the innkeeper was only too glad to get rid of the turbulent viscount at their price. As he mounted the carriage steps, he grumbled at Gilbert's being in the way.

      "Hush, brother," said Chon; "he knows the man who wounded you. He is Philip of Taverney."

      "Then we shall be even yet," said the viscount, with a gleam of gladness. "You are on the high horse at present, my little dragoon," he shouted out to Taverney; "but turn about is fair play."

      "To the return, if you please," replied the officer.

      "Yes, Chevalier Philip de Taverney!" called Jean, watching for the effect of the sudden declaration of his name.

      Indeed, his hearer raised his head with sharp surprise, in which entered some unease, but recovering himself and lifting his hat, he rejoined with the utmost grace:

      "A pleasant journey, Chevalier Jean Dubarry!"

      "A thousand thunders," swore the viscount, grinning horribly as the coach started. "I am in acute pain, Chon, and shall want a surgeon sooner than breakfast."

      "We will get one at the first stop while this youth has his meal."

      "Excuse me," said Gilbert, as the invalid expressed a desire to drink. "But strong drink is bad for you at present."

      "What, are you a doctor as well as philosopher?" queried Jean.

      "Not yet, my lord; though I hope to be one some day. But I read that wounded patients must not take anything heated. But if you will let me have your handkerchief, I will dip it in water at the first spring and cool the wound by bandaging it."

      The carriage was stopped for Gilbert to get out and wet the cambric.

      "This youngster is dreadfully in the way for us to talk business," said Dubarry.

      "Pshaw! we will talk in the Southern dialect," said Chon; and it was thanks to this precaution that the two communed to the puzzlement of the youth on the rest of the journey.

      But he had the consolation of thinking that he had comforted a viscount who stood in the king's favor. If Andrea only saw him now! He did not think of Nicole.

      "Hello!" broke off the viscount, as he looked behind out of the window. "Here comes that Arab with the strange woman on its back. I would give a thousand pistoles for that steed, and a fortune for the beauty."

      The black-eyed woman wrapped in a white cloak, with her brow shaded by a broad-brimmed felt hat with long feathers, flew by like an arrow along the roadside, crying:

      "Avanti, Djerid!"

      "She says 'Forward!' in Italian," said the viscount. "Oh, the lovely creature. If I were not in such pain, I would jump out and after her."

      "You could not catch her, on that horse. It is the magician, and she is his wife."

      "Magician?" questioned the Dubarrys together.

      "Yes, Baron Joseph Balsamo."

      The sister looked at the brother as much as to say: "Was I not right to keep him?" and he nodded emphatically.

      Chapter XVI.

       The King's Favorite.

       Table of Contents

      In the apartments of Princess Adelaide, daughter of King Louis X., he had housed the Countess Jeanne Dubarry, his favorite since a year, not without studying the effect it would have on the realm. The jolly, mirthful, devil-may-care mad-cap had transformed the silent palace into a monkey-house, where any one was tolerated who kept the fun alive.

      At about nine in the morning, the hour of her reception, Jeanne Vaubernier, to give her her true name, stepped out of her couch, wrapped in an embroidered gauze gown which allowed a glimpse through the floating lace of her alabaster arms. This seductive statue, awakening more and more, drew a lace mantle over her shoulders and held out her little foot for a slipper which, with its jewels, would enrich a woodcutter in her native woods had he found it.

      "Any news of Chon, or the Viscount Jean?" she asked at once of her chambermaid.

      "None, and no letters, my lady."

      "What a bore to be kept waiting!" pouted the royal pet, with a pretty wry face. "Will they never invent a method of corresponding a hundred miles apart? Faith, I pity anybody I visit with my vexation this day. But I suppose that, as this star the dauphiness is coming, I, the poor glowworm, will be left alone. Who is waiting, tell me?"

      "Duke Daiguillon, Prince Soubise, Count Sartines and President Maupeou."

      "But the Duke of Richelieu?"

      "He has not yet come."

      "No more than yesterday. That political weathercock has turned from me. He is afraid to be injured, Doris. You must send to his house to ask after him."

      "Yes, my lady; but the king is here."

      "Very well; I am ready."

      The Fifteenth Louis entered the room with a smile on his lips and his head upright. He was accompanied solely by a gentleman in black, who tried by a smile to counteract the baleful effect of thin, hard lips and severe gray eyes. It was Lieutenant of Police Sartines.

      The waiting maid and a little negro boy were in the room; but they were not counted.

      "Good-morning, countess," hailed the monarch; "how fresh we are looking to-day. Don't be afraid of Sartines; he is not going to talk business, I trust. Oh, how

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