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    These Old Shades
    These Old Shades
    These Old Shades
    Ebook500 pages7 hours

    These Old Shades

    By Georgette Heyer

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    The Georgian romance that launched the career of the New York Times–bestselling author is “the sort of tale which leaves us breathless with delight.” —Boston Evening Transcript
     
    When the Duke of Avon encounters a mistreated young boy on the streets of Paris, he employs the lad as his page. As the duke’s closest friends ponder his actions, the precocious Léon soon becomes the talk of the aristocracy.
     
    Léon cannot believe his good fortune after being saved from a brutal beating by his older brother. He follows the duke around like a loyal puppy, a constant source of amusement for the duke, who is seen by himself—and by society—as a devious scoundrel, well deserving of his nickname, Satanas.
     
    But when Avon uncovers Léon’s biggest secret—that the boy is in fact a girl named Léonie—he acts honorably, taking her to his sister in London to learn the ways of the fairer sex, before he can adopt her. For Avon can’t believe his luck. A trump card has fallen into his hands. If Léonie is who the duke suspects she is, she’ll be the perfect weapon to use against his greatest nemesis. He embarks on his quest for revenge, never foreseeing just how Léonie’s transformation will change the game . . .
     
    “Wonderful characters, elegant, witty writing, perfect period detail, and rapturously romantic.” —Katie Fforde
     
    “A world of high romance, of adventure, of passions that shimmer just beneath the surface.” —Stephanie Laurens, #1 New York Times–bestselling author
     
    “You’re in for a treat.” —Nora Roberts, #1 New York Times–bestselling author
    The Georgian romance that launched the career of the New York Times–bestselling author is “the sort of tale which leaves us breathless with delight.” —Boston Evening Transcript
     
    When the Duke of Avon encounters a mistreated young boy on the streets of Paris, he employs the lad as his page. As the duke’s closest friends ponder his actions, the precocious Léon soon becomes the talk of the aristocracy.
     
    Léon cannot believe his good fortune after being saved from a brutal beating by his older brother. He follows the duke around like a loyal puppy, a constant source of amusement for the duke, who is seen by himself—and by society—as a devious scoundrel, well deserving of his nickname, Satanas.
     
    But when Avon uncovers Léon’s biggest secret—that the boy is in fact a girl named Léonie—he acts honorably, taking her to his sister in London to learn the ways of the fairer sex, before he can adopt her. For Avon can’t believe his luck. A trump card has fallen into his hands. If Léonie is who the duke suspects she is, she’ll be the perfect weapon to use against his greatest nemesis. He embarks on his quest for revenge, never foreseeing just how Léonie’s transformation will change the game . . .
     
    “Wonderful characters, elegant, witty writing, perfect period detail, and rapturously romantic.” —Katie Fforde
     
    “A world of high romance, of adventure, of passions that shimmer just beneath the surface.” —Stephanie Laurens, #1 New York Times–bestselling author
     
    “You’re in for a treat.” —Nora Roberts, #1 New York Times–bestselling author
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOpen Road Media
    Release dateJan 1, 2022
    ISBN9781504072991
    These Old Shades
    Author

    Georgette Heyer

    Georgette Heyer (1902-1974) was an English writer of historical romance and detective fiction. Born in London, Heyer was raised as the eldest of three children by a distinguished British Army officer and a mother who excelled as a cellist and pianist at the Royal College of Music. Encouraged to read from a young age, she began writing stories at 17 to entertain her brother Boris, who suffered from hemophilia. Impressed by her natural talent, Heyer’s father sought publication for her work, eventually helping her to release The Black Moth (1921), a detective novel. Heyer then began publishing her stories in various magazines, establishing herself as a promising young voice in English literature. Following her father’s death, Heyer became responsible for the care of her brothers and shortly thereafter married mining engineer George Ronald Rougier. In 1926, Heyer publisher her second novel, These Old Shades, a work of historical romance. Over the next several decades, she published consistently and frequently, excelling with romance and detective stories and establishing herself as a bestselling author.

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    Reviews for These Old Shades

    4/5

    706 ratings28 reviews

    What our readers think

    Readers find this title enjoyable and lively, with well-developed characters. The adventure and life breathed into the characters make it a favorite among readers, even for kids. However, some find the plot predictable and the book overly long. The inclusion of French words and phrases may slow down the reading experience for some."

    What did you think?

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    Review must be at least 10 words

    • 5/5
      One of my favorite Heyer books. The characters are lively, many say they figured out the plot from the beginning..but truth is its given to you. Its the adventure and the life she breathes into her characters that is enjoyable. My kids have even listened to this on audio and loved it, still make jokes ECT in reference to it.
    • 4/5
      It was a good story but it had too many French words and phrases which made it go slowly for having to translate them.
    • 5/5
      Set in France, the reign of Louis XV and in18th Century England; corrupt nobles; masquerading and subtle plotting. A great adventure. One of Heyer's best. Sequel follows as 'Devil's Cub'.
    • 4/5
      A quick, zany, humorous book-- and my second Heyer, recommended by Georgie-who-is-Sarah as a better offering than Beauvallet. I'd have to agree, though that same swashbuckling feel exists here. Her writing is bold and upbeat.

      I am still, somehow, by the end of their evolving and strange relationship, convinced of Justin's love for Leonie.

      I had tons of fun with this, time reading is only due to print copy.
    • 5/5
      This is one of my favourite books; it was the first Georgette Heyer that I read and I was just delighted by it. Disguises, kidnappings and intrigue underpin an unconventional love story. And the Duke of Avon has to be one of Heyer's most compelling and attractive characters. Perfect.
    • 4/5
      Fun. Justin was quite unpleasant to read at the beginning, but he got better (I can see him sneering at the notion!). It's completely unlikely, of course - a nine-year-old being taken for a boy is possible, not a nineteen-year-old. But ignoring that, it's a lot of fun - escapades and mysteries and abductions and old enmities being cured - or otherwise resolved. Yes, it's clearly linked to The Black Moth - and clearly not that story. Merivale isn't John, and never made a living (however casually) as a highwayman. I'd like to see this version, actually - see the differences. But the general events are clear, and not crucial to this story anyway. The romance is a very important thread, but it's well-buried in the adventure until nearly the end. I don't actually like Leonie - at least, in real life, I think she'd drive me nuts. She's cute in the story, though. A very enjoyable fluff read. More please.
    • 3/5
      Justin Alastair, Duke of Avon has the worst reputation in all of high society in London and Paris. When he has a chance encounter with a young street urchin, he buys the young man, Leon, from his abusive elder brother and sets him to work as his page. However, as Alastair soon discovers, Leon is actually Leonie and she holds far more charm than he could ever have expected. She also holds the secret that Alastair can use to finally avenge himself on his long-term enemy but the outfall of his plot has more consequences than he expects.An enjoyable historical romance, as one always expects from Heyer, but not my favourite. The time period isn't one I purposely seek out in my historical fiction. Leonie comes across as far too naive and innocent (and at times downright stupid) for someone with her background, which left me unimpressed with her. The narrative is highly readable and I don't reject dipping into it but I wouldn't recommend this as a first Heyer to start with.
    • 3/5
      Classic Georgette Heyer, set slightly earlier than her beloved Regency period, but non the less delicious. A rather ridiculous plot is carried off by strong and likeable characters, in particular Leon/Leonie. The descriptions of Versailles are sumptuous. Read it as a romp! (I re-read it this time as I was feeling unwell, and it did help me feel much better!).
    • 4/5
      My first Heyer, and I think I'm a fan. This was crazy melodramatic plot, with entertaining, likeable (and dislikeable) characters, all of the twists of Wilkie Collins with much more tongue in cheek.
    • 4/5
      Over the past few years, I have begun a collection of Georgette Heyer's works. If you enjoy a good, clean Regency romance, she is your go-to source. You will not find the passion here as in Julia Quinn's works, but instead a more subtle courtship. I love her historical descriptions and well-drawn characters. This particular book, THESE OLD SHADES, is classic Heyer. It was an enjoyable read, and it held my interest until the very end. The reason for the 4-star rating? There is quite an age difference between the the hero and heroine (20+ years), and at times it seemed unbelievable to me that the worldly Duke of Avon could fall in love with the child he calls "infant." It seemed a bit awkward at times, but fortunately, by the end all was resolved in another satisfying conclusion. Very enjoyable Regency romance as always!
    • 3/5
      I really like the way Heyer doesn't fuss about trying to make the plot twists a surprise.
    • 5/5
      Excellent book
    • 3/5
      The title, I learn after a little 'wiki research' is after the characters who are shades of those in Heyer's first book 'The Black Moth'. (I still haven't had occasion to come across this one in the library.) Since plot of this book was no sequel, Heyer just changed the old characters to new name though they retain their mannerism and felicity.

      Book was delightfully written - only two complaints being the age difference between the lead pair was mammoth, 20 years! And I feared that if the book continued 30-40 more pages, I would be irked of same 'delightful, innocent and at the same time 'infantile' tone of the heroine of the novel. However, Heyer did rein it tightly to keep the humor alive all through the book.

      This one works for humor than for the passion.
    • 4/5
      Tis story was foreshadowed in Georgette Heyer's first book The Black Moth because the main characters bears many similarities in both books. But in this case Justin Alaistair the Duke of Avon is more fully fleshed out. He is never as bad as he is painted.

      The story begins when he rescues a waif from the streets of Paris with striking hair and makes him his page. There is a mystery subtly interwoven in between action and adventures that makes this book very enjoyable.
    • 5/5
      Georgette Heyer outdid herself with this one. This is going in my top five for sure! The whole girl disguising herself as a boy thing always had me intrigued, Heyer added humor and BAM! A hilarious romp.The Duke of Avon is strolling home one night and happens upon a ragamuffin fleeing from their nasty guardian. The Duke buys Leon and makes him his page and soon figures out that Leon is actually Leonie and that a mystery surrounds her.As usual, I enjoyed the side characters more so than the main. Rupert had me cracking up every time he spoke and I just loved Fanny's silliness. Of course, I just loved Leonie, as well. She was a very outspoken heroine, not at all the norm.When a Heyer novel makes me grin like a silly person without realizing it, than it is definitely a keeper! These Old Shades is a true Heyer classic! On to Devil's Cub!
    • 4/5
      Rather plotty for a Heyer novel. Kinda twisted, but undeniably entertaining.

      I see people all over the internet freakin' out about the depravity Justin "Satanas" Alistair, but to me he really didn't seem all that dastardly. I mean, the 1750s were crazy times. I think.

      You know what was weird was how the peasant-born, aristocrat-raised child had these deep innate longings to be a farmer, whereas his counterpart was somehow magically delicate and graceful and whatever. That was oddly convenient.
    • 4/5
      I've read and enjoyed other books by this author before, but this one started a lot slower than I'd expected, and I put it down after about 60 pages. When I determined to give it another chance I was rewarded with an interesting and enjoyable story, a cut above most books of the genre, with less melodramatic breast-beating and angst so common with other authors. Definitely recommended.
    • 4/5
      A delightful romp in the world of elite society... Justin Alistair, the duke of Avon, and Leonie, a girl whom the Duke rescues from obscurity, meet in the streets where Leonine is trying to escape from the abuse of her guardian. When Justin discovers the true background of the girl, he contrives a revenge which includes a public humiliation.
    • 4/5
      Light, diverting, and fun. Better in the first and last thirds than in the middle, where the heroine's childlike innocence became a bit wearing. And the end, where the villain is finally dispensed with, is absolutely delicious.
    • 5/5
      It's my favorite book of Heyer's. I love the characters--they are nuanced and unusual. In a way, as a modern woman, I feel that I shouldn't like this book as much as I do: Avon's manipulative and controlling, and Leonie is far too adoring of him. But on the other hand, these aren't supposed to be modern characters, and Heyer does a very good job of engaging our emotions very quickly. Justin and Leonie are both lonely and loners, and despite their age difference (which wouldn't have made much difference in the Georgian period), they are quite similar in their determination and sense of honor. I admire Leonie's fire and Justin's sense of justice.
    • 4/5
      It was a good book with lot's of twist and turns. The ending was as expected. However, having figured that out about 25% into the book it was still a great read and kept my attention. The characters were all interesting and most played a huge part in making the story enjoyable.
    • 5/5
      simply fabulous
    • 3/5
      So this one is fine. It mostly takes place in Paris. I don't really have much to say about it. Off to the next one. One good thing about Heyer ... there are plenty to choose from.
    • 3/5
      This book was strangely perverse, but I kind of enjoyed it anyway. Despite the AMAZINGLY IRRITATING main character.
    • 5/5
      This is my ultimate comfort read, and, heresy that this may be to some, is far more satisfying, and better for you, than a box of chocolates. I haven't yet read a Georgette Heyer novel that hasn't had fully realised characters, interesting plots, fully realised characters and sparkling, witty dialogue. This one is a classic, with reason, and is just sheer bliss from start to finish. I don't want to give the plot away, but Heyer transcends and transforms the conventions of romantic fiction and produces a scintillating and exciting novel. Try one. If you don't believe me fans such as A.S. Byatt, Margaret Drabble and Stephen Fry (yes really!) can't be wrong.
    • 5/5
      One of Heyer's best, together with its sequel Devil's Cub. Set in mid-18th century unlike her more usual Regency, the heroine Leoine is absolutely delightful. One odd fact: the implied back-story between some of the leading characters matches the plot of The Black Moth, though the names of the characters are different
    • 1/5
      Well, I’m sorry but this was the most boringly written book I have read. You figure out everything from the beginning and then nothing new happens. And the book seems never ending.
    • 1/5
      I got about half-way through this book before my digital library loan expired. I didn't mind very much, because this book is bizarre. I disliked all the main characters, and the beginning third of the book was very strange. It would have been fun to see how the Duke enacted his revenge on Leonie's real family, but I have better books to read right now. :P

      I still want to read some Georgette Heyer romances, so hopefully I can eventually acquire an Alameda County library card (they have a large selection of Heyer Kindle books).

    Book preview

    These Old Shades - Georgette Heyer

    cover.jpg

    THESE OLD SHADES

    Georgette Heyer

    CHAPTER I

    His Grace of Avon Buys a Soul

    A gentleman was strolling down a side street in Paris, on his way back from the house of one Madame de Verchoreux. He walked mincingly, for the red heels of his shoes were very high. A long purple cloak, rose-lined, hung from his shoulders and was allowed to fall carelessly back from his dress, revealing a full-skirted coat of purple satin, heavily laced with gold; a waistcoat of flowered silk; faultless small clothes; and a lavish sprinkling of jewels on his cravat and breast. A three-cornered hat, point-edged, was set upon his powdered wig, and in his hand he carried a long beribboned caned. It was a little enough protection against footpads, and although a light dress sword hung at the gentleman’s side its hilt was lost in the folds of his cloak, not quickly to be found. At this late hours, and in this deserted street, it was the height of foolhardiness to walk unattended and flaunting jewels, but the gentleman seemed unaware of his recklessness. He proceeded languidly on his way, glancing neither to left nor to right, apparently heedless of possible danger.

    But as he walked down the street, idly twirling his cane, a body hurled itself upon him, shot like a cannon-ball from a dark alley that yawned to the right of the magnificent gentleman. The figure clutched at that elegant cloak, cried out in a started voice, and tried to regain his balance.

    His Grace of Avon swirled about, gripping his assailant’s wrists and bearing them downwards with a merciless strength belied by his foppish appearance. His victim gave a whimper of pain and sank quivering to his knees.

    M’sieur! Ah, let me go! I did not mean—I did not know—I would not—Ah, m’sieur, let me go!

    His Grace bent over the boy, standing a little to one side so that the light of an adjacent street lamp fell on that white agonized countenance. Great violet-blue eyes gazed wildly up at him, terror in their depths.

    Surely you are a little young for this game? drawled the Duke. Or did you think to take me unawares?

    The boy flushed, and his eyes grew dark with indignation.

    I did not seek to rob you! Indeed, indeed I did not! I—I was running away! I—oh, m’sieur, let me go!

    In good time, my child. From what were you running, may I ask? From another victim?

    No! Oh, please let me go! You—you do not understand! He will have started in pursuit. Ah, please, please, milor’!

    The Duke’s curious, heavy-lidded eyes never wavered from the boy’s face. They had widened suddenly, and become intent.

    And who, child, is he?

    My—my brother. Oh, please—

    Round the corner of the alley came a man, full-tilt. At sight of Avon he checked. The boy shuddered, and now clung to Avon’s arm.

    Ah! exploded the new-comer. Now, by God, if the whelp has sought to rob you, milor he shall pay for it! You scoundrel! Ungrateful brat! You shall be sorry, I promise you! Milor, a thousand apologies! The lad is my young brother. I was beating him for his laziness when he slipped from me—

    The Duke raised a scented handkerchief to his thin nostrils.

    Keep your distance, fellow, he said haughtily. Doubtless beating is good for the young.

    The boy shrank closer to him. He made no attempt to escape, but his hands twitched convulsively. Once again the Duke’s strange eyes ran over him, resting for a moment on the copper-red curls that were cut short and ruffled into wild disorder.

    As I remarked, beating is good for the young. Your brother, you said? He glanced now at the swarthy, coarse-featured young man.

    Yes, noble sir, my brother. I have cared for him since our parents died, and he repays me with ingratitude. He is a curse, noble sir, a curse!

    The Duke seemed to reflect.

    How old is he, fellow?

    He is nineteen, milor."

    The Duke surveyed the boy.

    Nineteen. Is he not a little small for his age?

    Why, milor, if—if he is it is no fault of mine! I—I have fed him well. I pray you, do not heed what he says! He is a viper, a wild-cat, a veritable curse!"

    I will relieve you of the curse, said his Grace calmly.

    The man stared, uncomprehending.

    Milor—"

    I suppose he is for sale?

    A cold hand stole into the Duke’s, and clutched it.

    Sale, milor You—"

    I believe I will buy him to be my page. What is his worth? A louis? Or are curses worthless? An interesting problem.

    The man’s eyes gleamed suddenly with avaricious cunning.

    He is a good boy, noble sir. He can work. Indeed, he is worth much to me. And I have an affection for him. I—

    I will give you a guinea for your curse.

    Ah, but no, milor! He is worth more! Much, much more!"

    Then keep him, said Avon, and moved on.

    The boy ran to him, clinging to his arm.

    Milor, take me! Oh please take me! I will work well for you! I swear it! Oh, I beg of you, take me!"

    His Grace paused.

    I wonder if I am a fool? he said in English. He drew the diamond pin from his cravat, and held it so that it winked and sparkled in the light of the lamp. Well, fellow? Will this suffice?

    The man gazed at the jewel as though he could hardly believe his eyes. He rubbed them, and drew nearer, staring.

    For this, Avon said, I purchase your brother, body and soul. Well?

    Give it me! whispered the man, and stretched out his hand. The boy is yours, milor."

    Avon tossed the pin to him.

    I believe I requested you to keep your distance, he said. You offend my nostrils. Child, follow me. On he went, down the street, with the boy at a respectful distance, behind him.

    They came at last to the Rue St.-Honoré, and to Avon’s house. He passed in with never a glance behind him to see whether his new possession followed or not, and walked across the courtyard to the great nail-studded door. Bowing lackeys admitted him, looking in surprise at the shabby figure who came in his wake.

    The Duke let fall his cloak, and handed his hat to one of the footmen.

    Mr. Davenant? he said.

    In the library, your Grace.

    Avon sauntered across the hall to the library door. It was opened for him, and he went in, nodding to the boy to follow.

    "Hugh Davenant sat by the fire, reading a book of poems. He glanced up at his host came in, and smiled.

    Well, Justin? Then he saw the shrinking child by the door. Faith, what have we here?

    You may well ask, said the Duke. He came to the fire and stretched one elegantly shod foot to the blaze. A whim. That dirty and starved scrap of humanity is mine.

    "He spoke in English, but it was evident that the boy understood, for he flushed, and hung his curly head.

    Yours? Davenant looked from him to the boy. What means you, Alastair? Surely—you cannot mean—your son?

    Oh, no! His Grace smiled in some amusement. Not this time, my dear Hugh. I bought this little rat for the sum of one diamond.

    But—buy why, in heaven’s name?

    I have no idea, said his Grace placidly. Come here, rat.

    The boy came to him timidly, and allowed Justin to turn his face to the light.

    Quite a pretty child, the Duke remarked. I shall make him my page. So entertaining to possess a page, body and soul."

    Davenant rose, and took one of the boy’s hands in his.

    I suppose you will explain, some time or another, he said. For the present, why not feed the poor child?

    You are always so efficient, sighed the Duke. He turned to the table, on which a cold supper was laid, awaiting him. Wonderful. You might almost have known that I should bring home a guest. You may eat, little rat.

    The boy looked up at him shyly.

    Please, milor. I can wait. I—I would not eat your supper. I would rather wait, if—if you please."

    I do not please, my child. Go ahead and eat. He sat down as he spoke, twirling his quizzing glass. After a moment’s hesitation the boy went to the table and waited for Hugh to carve him a leg of chicken. Having supplied his wants, Hugh came back to the fire.

    Are you mad, Justin? he asked, faintly smiling.

    I believe not.

    Then why have you done this? What do you, of all men, want with a child of his age?

    I thought it might be an amusement. As you doubtless know, I am suffering from ennui. Louise wearies me. This— he waved one white hand toward the famished boy—is a heavent-sent diversion.

    Davenant frowned.

    You surely do not intend to adopt the child?

    He—er—adopted me.

    You are going to make him as your son? persisted Hugh incredulously.

    The Duke’s eyebrows rose, rather superciliously.

    My dear Hugh! A child from the gutter? He shall be my page.

    And what interest will that afford you?

    Justin smiled, and his glance travelled to the boy.

    I wonder? he said softly.

    You have some special reason?

    As you so sapiently remark, my dear Hugh, I have some special reason.

    Davenant shrugged his shoulders, and allowed the subject to drop. He sat watching the child at the table, who presently finished his repast, and came to the Duke’s side.

    If you please, sir, I have finished.

    Avon put up his eyeglass.

    Have you? he said.

    The boy knelt suddenly and, to Davenant’s surprise, kissed the Duke’s hand.

    Yes, sir. Thank you.

    Avon disengaged himself, but the boy knelt still, looking up into the handsome face with humble eyes. The Duke took a pinch of snuff.

    My esteemed child, there sits the man you had best thank. He waved his hand towards Davenant. I should never have thought of feeding you.

    I—I thanked you for saving me from Jean, milor," the boy answered.

    You are reserved for a worse fate, said the Duke sardonically. You now belong to me—body and soul.

    Yes, sir. If you please, murmured the boy, and sent him a swift glance of admiration from beneath his long lashes.

    The thin lips curled a little.

    The prospect is no doubt pleasing?

    Yes, sir. I—I would like to serve you.

    But then, you do not know me very well, said Justin, with a slight chuckle. I am an inhuman taskmaster, eh, Hugh?

    You are not the man to care for a child of his age, said Hugh quietly.

    True, very true. Shall I give him to you?

    A trembling hand touched his great cuff.

    Please, sir—

    Justin looked across at his friend.

    I do not think I shall, Hugh. It is so entertaining, and so—er—novel, to be a gilded saint in the eyes of—er—unfledged innocence. I shall keep the boy for just so long as he continues to amuse me. What is your name, my child?

    Léon, sir.

    How delightfully brief! Always a faint undercurrent of sarcasm ran beneath the surface of the Duke’s smooth voice. Léon. No more, no less. The question is—Hugh will of course have the answer ready—what next to do with Léon?"

    Put him to bed, said Davenant.

    Naturally—And do you think—a bath?

    By all means.

    Ah yes! sighed the Duke, and struck a handbell at his side.

    A lackey came in to answer the summons, bowing deeply.

    Your Grace desires?

    Send me Walker, said Justin.

    The lackey effaced himself, and presently a neat individual came in, grey-haired and prim.

    Walker! I had something to say to you. Yes, I remember. Walker, do you observe this child?

    Walker glanced at the kneeling boy.

    Ay, your Grace.

    He does. Marvellous, murmured the Duke. His name, Walker, is Léon. Strive to bear it in mind."

    Certainly, your Grace.

    He requires several things, but first, a bath.

    Ay, your Grace.

    Secondly, a bed.

    Yes, your Grace.

    Thirdly, a nightgown.

    Yes, your Grace.

    Fourthly, and lastly, a suit of clothes. Black.

    Black, your Grace.

    Severe and funeral black, as shall befit my page. You will procure them. No doubt you will prove yourself equal to this occasion. Take the child away and show him the bath, the bed, and the nightgown. And then leave him alone.

    Very good, your Grace.

    And you, Léon, rise. Go with the estimable Walker. I shall see you to-morrow.

    Léon came to his feet, and bowed.

    Yes, Monseigneur. Thank you.

    Pray, do not thank me again, yawned the Duke. It fatigues me. He watched Léon go out, and turned to survey Davenant.

    "Hugh looked full into his eyes.

    What does this mean, Alastair?

    The Duke crossed his legs, and swung one foot.

    I wonder? he said pleasantly. I thought that you would be able to tell me. You are always so omniscient, my dear.

    Some scheme you have in mind, I know, Hugh said positively. I have known you long enough to be sure of that. What do you want with that child?

    You are sometimes most importunate, complained Justin. Never more so than when you become virtuously severe. Pray spare me a homily.

    I have no intention of lecturing you. All I would say is that it is impossible for you to take that child as your page.

    Dear me! said Justin, and gazed pensively into the fire.

    For one thing, he is of gentle birth. One can tell that from his speech, and his delicate hands and face. For another—his innocence shines out of his eyes.

    How very distressing!

    It would be very distressing if that innocence left him—because of you, Hugh said, a hint of grimness in his rather dreamy voice.

    Always so polite, murmured the Duke.

    If you wish to be kind to him—

    My dear Hugh! I thought you said you knew me?

    Davenant smiled at that.

    Well, Justin, as a favour to me, will you give me Léon, and seek a page elsewhere?

    I am always sorry to disappoint you, Hugh. I desire to act up to your expectations on all possible occasions. So I shall keep Léon. Innocence shall walk behind Evil—you see, I forestall you—clad in sober black.

    Why do you want him? At least tell me that?

    He has Titian hair, said Justin blandly. Titian hair has ever been one of—my—ruling—passions. The hazel eyes glinted for a moment, and were swiftly veiled. I am sure you will sympathize with me.

    "Hugh rose and walked to the table. He poured himself out a glass of burgundy, and sipped it for a time in silence.

    Where have you been this evening? he asked at length.

    I really forget. I believe I went first to De Touronne’s house. Yes, I remember now. I won. Strange.

    Why strange? inquired Hugh.

    Justin flicked a grain of snuff from his great cuff.

    Because, Hugh, in the days, not so long since, when it was—ah—common knowledge that the noble family of Alastair was on the verge of ruin—yes, Hugh, eve when I was mad enough to contemplate marriage with the present—er—Lady Merivale—I could only lose.

    I’ve seen you win thousands in a night, Justin.

    And lose them the following night. Then, if you remember, I went away with you to—now, where did we go? Rome! Of course!

    I remember.

    The thin lips sneered a little.

    Yes. I was the—ah—rejected and heart-broken suitor. I should have blown my brains out to be quite correct. But I was past the age of drama. Instead I proceeded—in due course—to Vienna. And I won. The reward, my dear Hugh, of vice.

    "Hugh tilted his glass, watching the candle-light play on the dark wine.

    I heard, he said slowly, that the man from whom you won that fortune—a young man, Justin—

    —with a blameless character.

    Yes. That young man—so I heard—did blow his brains out.

    You were misinformed, my dear. He was shot in a duel. The reward of virtue. The moral is sufficiently pointed, I think?

    And you came to Paris with a fortune.

    Quite a considerable one. I bought this house.

    Yes. I wonder how you reconcile it with your soul?

    I haven’t one, Hugh. I thought you knew that.

    When Jennifer Beauchamp married Anthony Merivale you had something approaching a soul.

    Had I? Justin regarded him with some amusement.

    "Hugh met his look.

    And I wonder too what Jennifer Beauchamp is to you now?

    Justin help up one beautiful white hand.

    Jennifer Merivale, Hugh. She is the memory of a failure, and of a spell of madness.

    And yet you have never been quite the same since.

    Justin rose, and now the sneer was marked.

    I told you half an hour ago, my dear, that it was my endeavour to act up to your expectations. Three years ago—in fact, when I heard from my sister Fanny of Jennifer’s marriage—you said with your customary simplicity that although she would not accept my suit, she had made me. Voilà tout.

    No. Hugh looked thoughtfully across at him. I was wrong, but—

    My dear Hugh, pray do not destroy my faith in you!

    I was wrong, but not so much wrong. I should have said that Jennifer prepared the way for another woman to make you.

    Justin closed his eyes.

    When you become profound, Hugh, you cause me to regret the day that saw me admit you in the select ranks of my friends.

    You have so many, have you not? said Hugh, flushing.

    Parfaitement. Justin walked to the door. Where there is money there are also—friends.

    Davenant set down his glass.

    Is that meant for an insult? he said quietly.

    Justin paused, his hand on the door-knob.

    Strange to say, it was not. But by all means call me out.

    "Hugh laughed suddenly.

    Oh, go to bed, Justin! You are quite impossible!

    So you have often told me. Good night, my dear. He went out, but before he had shut the door bethought himself of something, and looked back, smiling. A propos, Hugh, I have got a soul. It had just had a bath, and is now asleep.

    God help it! Hugh said gravely.

    I am not sure of my cue. Do I say amen, or retire cursing? His eyes mocked me, but the smile in them was not unpleasant. He did not wait for an answer, but shut the door, and went slowly up to bed.

    CHAPTER II

    Introducing the Comte de Saint-Vire

    Shortly after noon on the following day Avon sent for his page. Léon came promptly, and knelt to kiss the Duke’s hand. Walker had obeyed his master’s commands implicitly, and in place of the shabby, grimy child of the evening before was scrupulously neat boy, whose red curls had been swept severely back from his brow, and whose slim person was clad in plain black raiment, with a starched cravat about his neck.

    Avon surveyed him for a moment.

    Yes. You may rise, Léon. I am going to ask you some questions. I desire you will answer them truthfully. You understand?

    Léon put his hands behind him.

    Yes, Monseigneur.

    You may first tell me how you come to know my language.

    Léon shot him a surprised glance.

    Monseigneur?

    Pray do not be guileless. I dislike fools.

    Yes, Monseigneur. I was only surprised that you knew. It was at the inn, you see.

    I do not think I am obtuse, said Avon coldly, but I see naught.

    Pardon, Monseigneur. Jean keeps an inn, and very often English travellers come. Not—not noble English, of course.

    I see. Now you may relate your history. Begin with your name.

    I am Léon Bonnard, Monseigneur. My mother was the Mère Bonnard, and my father—

    —was the Père Bonnard. It is not inconceivable. Where were you born, and when did your worthy parents die?

    I—I do not know where I was born, Monseigneur. It was not in Anjou, I think.

    That is of course interesting, remarked the Duke. Spare me a list of the places where you were not born, I beg of you.

    Léon coloured.

    You do not understand, Monseigneur. My parents went to live in Anjou when I was a baby. We had a farm Bassincourt, auprès de Saumur. And—and we lived there until my parents died.

    Did they die simultaneously? inquired Justin.

    Léon’s straight little nose wrinkled in perplexity.

    Monseigneur?

    At one and the same time.

    It was the plague, explained Léon. I was sent to Monsieur le Curé. I was twelve then, and Jean was twenty.

    How came you to be so much younger than this Jean? asked Justin, and opened his eyes rather wide, so that Léon looked full into them.

    A mischievous chuckle escaped Léon; he returned the piercing state frankly.

    Monseigneur, my parents are dead, so I cannot ask them.

    My friend— Justin spoke softly. Do you know what I do to impertinent pages?

    Léon shook his head apprehensively.

    I have them whipped. I advise you to have care.

    Léon paled, and the laugh died out of his eyes.

    Pardon, Monseigneur. I—I did not mean to be impertinent, he said contritely. My mother had once a daughter who died. Then—then I came.

    Thank you. Where did you learn to speak as a gentleman?

    With M. le Curé, Monseigneur. He taught me to read and to write and to know Latin a little, and—and many other things.

    Justin raised his eyebrows.

    And your father was a farmer? Why did you receive this extensive education?

    I do not know Monseigneur. I was the baby, you see, and the favourite. My mother would not have me work on the farm. That is why Jean hates me, I think.

    Possibly. Give me your hand.

    Léon extended one slender hand for inspection. Justin took it in his, and surveyed it through his eyeglasses. It was small, and finely made, with tapering fingers roughened by toil.

    Yes, said the Duke. Quite a pretty member.

    Léon smiled engagingly.

    Quant à ça, you have very beautiful hands, Monseigneur, I think.

    The Duke’s lips quivered.

    You overwhelm me, my child. As you were saying, your parents died. What then?

    Oh, then Jean sold the farm! He said he was made for greater things. But I do not know. Léon tilted his head to one side, considering the point. The irrepressible dimple appeared, and was swiftly banished. Léon eyed his master solemnly, and a little nervously withal.

    We will leave Jean’s capabilities out of the discussion, said Justin smoothly. Continue your story.

    Yes, Monseigneur. Jean sold the farm, and took me away from M. le Curé. Léon’s face clouded over. Monsieur wanted to keep me, but Jean would not have it so. He thought I should be useful. So of course monsieur could do naught. Jean brought me to Paris. That was when he made me— Léon stopped.

    Go on! said Justin sharply. That was when he made you—?

    Work for him, said Léon lamely. He encountered a searching glance, and his big eyes fell before it.

    Very well, said Justin at last. We will leave it at that. Et puis?

    Then Jean bought the inn in the Rue Sainte-Marie, and—and after a time he met Charlotte, and—and married her. Then it was worse, because Charlotte hated me. The blue eyes flashed. I tried to kill her once, said Léon naïvely. With the big carving-knife.

    Her hatred is not incomprehensible, said Justin dryly.

    N-no, replied Léon doubtfully. I was only fifteen then. I remember I did not have anything to eat all day—besides the beating. And—and that is all, Monseigneur, till you came, and took me away.

    Justin picked up a quill and passed it through his fingers.

    May I ask you why you tried to kill this Charlotte—er—with the carving knife?

    Léon flushed, and looked away.

    There—there was a reason, Monseigneur.

    I do not doubt it.

    I–oh, I think she was very unkind and cruel and she—she made me angry. That was all.

    I am both cruel and unkind, but I do not advise you to try and kill me. Or any of my servants. You see, I know what the colour of your hair denotes.

    The long dark lashes lifted again, and the dimple showed.

    Colère de diable, Léon said.

    Precisely. You will do well to hide it with me, my child.

    Yes, Monseigneur. I do not seek to kill those whom I love.

    Justin’s lip curled rather sardonically.

    I am relieved. Now listen to me. You will henceforth be my page; you will be clothed and fed, and well provided for, but in return I will have obedience from you. You understand?

    But, yes, Monseigneur.

    You will learn that my word is law with my servants. And this is my first command: if anyone should question you as to who you are, or from where you come, you will answer only that are Avon’s page. You will forget your past until I give you leave to remember it. You see?

    Yes, Monseigneur.

    And you will obey Walker as you would myself.

    The firm chin was tilted at that; Léon looked speculatively at the Duke.

    If you do not—the soft voice grew softer still—you will find that I too know how to punish.

    If it is your will that I obey this Walker, said Léon with dignity, I will do it, y-your-r-r G-r-r-race!

    Justin looked him over.

    Certainly you will do so. And I prefer that you call me Monseigneur.

    The blue eyes twinkled wickedly.

    This Walker, he has told me that when I speak to you, Monseigneur, I must say you-r-r ah, bah! I cannot, enfin!

    For one moment Justin stared haughtily at his page. Instantly the twinkle disappeared. Léon stared back gravely.

    Be very careful, Justin warned him.

    Yes, Monseigneur, Léon said meekly.

    You may go now. This evening you will accompany me out. The Duke dipped his quill in the inkhorn and started to write.

    Where, Monseigneur? inquired the page with great interest.

    Is that your affair? I dismissed you. Go.

    Yes, Monseigneur. Pardon! Léon departed, carefully closing the door behind him. Outside he met Davenant, coming slowly down the stairs. Hugh smiled.

    Well, Léon? Where have you been all the morning?

    Dressing myself, in these new clothes, m’sieu’. I think I look nice, n’est-ce pas?

    Very nice. Where are you going now?

    I do not know, m’sieu’. Perhaps there is something I may do for Monseigneur?

    If he gave you no orders there is nothing. Can you read?

    But yes! I was taught. Ah, I have forgotten, m’sieu’.

    Have you? Hugh was amused. If you come with me, child, I’ll find you’re a book.

    Twenty minutes later Hugh entered the library to find the Duke still writing, as Léon had left him.

    Justin, who and what is Léon? He is a delightful child; certainly no peasant!

    He is a very impertinent child, said Justin, with the ghost of a smile. He is the first page I have had who ever dared to laugh at me."

    Did he laugh at you? A very wholesome experience for you, Alastair. How old is the child?

    I have reason to believe that he is nineteen, said Justin placidly.

    Nineteen! Faith, it’s not possible! He is a babe!

    Not entirely. Do you come with me to Vassaud’s tonight?

    I suppose so. I’ve no money to lose, but what matter?

    You need not play, said Justin.

    If one does not play, why visit a gaming-house?

    To talk to the monde. I go to Vassaud’s to see Paris. He resumed his writing, and presently Hugh strolled away.

    At dinner that evening Léon stood behind the Duke’s chair, and waited upon him. Justin seemed hardly to notice him, but Hugh could not take his eyes from that piquant little face. Indeed, he stared so hard that at last Léon stared back, with great dignity, and some reproach. Observing his friend’s fixed regard, Justin turned, and put up his glass to look at Léon.

    What are you doing? he asked.

    Monseigneur, only looking at M. Davenant.

    Then do not.

    But he looks at me, Monseigneur!

    That is another matter.

    I do not see that that is fair, remarked Léon, sotto voce.

    Some time after dinner the two men set out for Vassaud’s. When Hugh realized that Léon was to accompany them he frowned, and took Avon aside.

    Justin, have done with this affectation! You can have no need of a page at Vassauds, and it’s no place for such a child!"

    My very dear Hugh, I do wish you would allow me to know my own mind, answered Justin sweetly. The page goes with me. Another whim.

    But why? The child should be in bed!

    Justin flicked a speck of snuff from his coat.

    You force me to remind you, Hugh, that the page is mine.

    Davenant compressed his lips, and swung out of the door. Nonchalantly his Grace followed.

    Vassaud’s was crowded, early in the evening though it was. The two men left their cloaks with the lackey in the vestibule, and proceeded, with Léon in their wake, across the hall to the broad stairway which led to the gaming-rooms on the first floor. Hugh saw a friend, standing at the foot of the stairs, and paused to exchange a greeting, but Avon swept on, bowing slightly to right and left as some chance acquaintance hailed him. He did not stop to speak to anyone, although several called to him as he passed, but went on his regal way with just a faint smile in his lips.

    Léon followed him close, his blue eyes wide with interest. He attracted some attention, and many were the curious glances cast from him to the Duke. He flushed delicately when he encountered such a glance, but his Grace appeared to be quite unaware of the surprise he had created.

    What ails Alastair now? inquired the Chevalier d’Anvau, who was standing with one De Salmy in a recess on the staircase.

    Who knows? De Salmy shrugged elegantly. He must ever be unusual. Good evening, Alastair."

    The Duke nodded to him.

    I rejoice to see you, De Salmy. A hand of piquet later?

    De Salmy bowed.

    I shall be delighted. He watched Avon pass on, and shrugged again. He bears himself as though he were the king of France. I mislike those strange eyes. Ah, Davenant, well met!"

    Davenant smiled pleasantly.

    You here? A crowd, is it not?

    All Paris, agreed

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