“They are awaiting you, sir,” the Count returned with a nice mixture of cordiality and deference. “Leclerc, marshal His Royal Highness to the audience-room.”
Leclerc, looking more like a gaolbird than ever, led the way upstairs, while his master walked respectfully in the visitor’s rear. They entered a large drawing-room in which the furniture had been disposed with some care, so that an armchair stood by itself against one wall in the manner of a throne.
“This chair is for you, sir,” the Count said persuasively, as the Pretender stood hesitating. “If I may venture to advise, it will be better to rise to receive Lord Alistair Stuart, as he is the heir to a dukedom. The others are simply gentlemen, and you may receive them seated. It will do good to maintain a little reserve with them, but of course that does not apply to Lord Alistair, who is, or has been, intimate with the Royal Family in this country. In his case I have ventured to waive the question of fees.”
Don Juan’s face fell slightly at this last intimation, the exchequer of the Order of the Holy Sepulchre being a not unimportant item in the princely civil list.
“I have never given the Order to any one for nothing,” he objected. “The price of the Grand Cordon is two thousand francs.”
Des Louvres put on his most conciliating air.
“You remember, sir, that you are going to ask Lord Alistair to render you an important service. It is well to establish a claim on him beforehand.”
“Still, Des Louvres, I think he should pay something. As a favour I am willing to let him have the collar for a thousand francs.”
“I am afraid in that case he would decline it. I must tell Your Royal Highness frankly that there is a very strong prejudice amongst the British nobility against foreign decorations, no matter of what kind. I had almost to urge Lord Alistair to accept your Order.”
The poor Pretender winced at this plain speaking.