These Old Shades (Alastair-Audley Tetralogy 1)

‘You see, I wish it to be thorough,’ apologised the Duke.

‘Are you nearer success now than you were – twenty years ago?’

A soundless laugh shook Justin.

‘We shall see. Rest assured that when it comes it will be – so!’ Very slowly he clenched his hand on his snuff-box, and opened his fingers to show the thin gold crushed.

Hugh gave a little shiver.

‘My God, Justin, do you know just how vile you can be?’

‘Naturally: Do they not call me – Satanas?’ The mocking smile came; the eyes glittered.

‘I hope to heaven Saint-Vire never puts himself in your power! It seems they were right who named you Satanas!’

‘Quite right, my poor Hugh.’

‘Does Saint-Vire’s brother know?’

‘Armand? No one knows save you, and I, and Saint-Vire. Armand may guess, of course.’

‘And yet you and he are friends!’

‘Oh, Armand’s hatred for the noble Henri is more violent than ever mine could be.’

In spite of himself Hugh smiled.

‘It is a race betwixt you, then?’

‘Not a whit. I should have said that Armand’s is a sullen detestation. Unlike me, he is content to hate.’

‘He, I suppose, would sell his soul for Saint-Vire’s shoes.’

‘And Saint-Vire,’ said Avon gently, ‘would sell his soul to keep those shoes from Armand.’

‘Yes, one knows that. It was common gossip at the time that that was his reason for marrying. One could not accuse him of loving his wife!’

‘No,’ said Justin, and chuckled as though at some secret thought.

‘Well,’ Hugh went on, ‘Armand’s hopes of the title were very surely dashed when Madame presented Saint-Vire with a son!’

‘Precisely,’ said Justin.

‘A triumph for Saint-Vire, that!’

‘A triumph indeed,’ suavely agreed his Grace.

Four

His Grace of Avon Becomes Further Acquainted with his Page

For Léon the days passed

swiftly, each one teeming with some new excitement. Never in his life had he seen such sights as now met his eyes. He was dazzled by the new life spread before him; from living in a humble, dirty tavern, he was transported suddenly into gorgeous surroundings, fed with strange foods, clad in fine clothes, and taken into the midst of aristocratic Paris. All at once life seemed to consist of silks and diamonds, bright lights, and awe-inspiring figures. Ladies, whose fingers were covered with rings, and whose costly brocades held an elusive perfume, would stop to smile at him sometimes; great gentlemen with powdered wigs and high heels would flip his head with careless fingers as they passed. Even Monseigneur sometimes spoke to him.

Fashionable Paris grew accustomed to see him long before he became accustomed to his new existence. After a while people ceased to stare at him when he came in Avon’s wake, but it was some time before he ceased to gaze on all that met his eyes, in wondering appreciation.

To the amazement of Avon’s household, he still persisted in his worship of the Duke. Nothing could shake him from his standpoint, and if one of the lackeys vented his outraged feelings below-stairs in a tirade against Avon, Léon was up in arms at once, blind rage taking possession of him. Since the Duke had ordained that none should lay violent hands on his page, save at his express command, the lackeys curbed their tongues in Léon’s presence, for he was over-ready with his dagger, and they dare not disobey the Duke’s orders. Gaston, the valet, felt that this hot partisanship was sadly wrong; that any should defend the Duke struck forcibly at his sense of propriety, and more than once he tried to convince the page that it was the duty of any self-respecting menial to loathe the Duke.