He had scarcely finished his explanation when the faithful Leclerc opened the door to admit the two brothers.
As Stuart had judged, Des Louvres had encountered no misgiving on their part. At the first mention of the Pretender and his decoration their flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes had betrayed the eagerness within. In fact, their feelings had been so unmistakable that Don Juan’s agent thought he might safely slip in an intimation that there were fees in connection with the Order of the Holy Sepulchre, as in the case of better known and more highly coveted distinctions. The fees payable by a Chevalier, he informed Egerton, amounted to sixty pounds in English money, while Wickham might compound for the lower dignity of a Companion with forty pounds. This disagreeable preliminary had caused much anguish to the brothers, who were both misers at heart; but after a severe struggle vanity triumphed over avarice, and they handed their cheques to the Count as Chancellor of the Order, on his assurance that the sums named represented little more than the actual cost of the jewels they would receive from His Royal Highness.
The sight of Lord Alistair Stuart in the Count’s study came as a considerable shock to the Vanes, who had looked forward to patronizing Stuart on the strength of their new honour. “In foreign Courts they attach more importance to a decoration than to a mere courtesy title,” Egerton had already laid it down to his admiring brother. “I am not sure that, as a Chevalier of the Holy Sepulchre, I am not entitled to take precedence of Alistair Stuart.” The study of ancient tapestry not throwing any light on this important problem, Wickham received the observation with that soothing docility which his brother had been accustomed to exact from their nursery days.
But a bitterer stroke awaited the Chevalier Vane, as Egerton had now instructed his servants to call him. For scarcely had the new-comers exchanged greetings with the rival they found before them when a confident ring at the front-door was followed by the entrance of the one man whom they had most wished to crush with their newly-acquired rank—in short, Mr. St. Maur.
Neither of the Vanes could conceal his chagrin at this turn of affairs, and Des Louvres perceived that all his tact would be required to smooth them down. As soon as the intruder had planted himself, with his customary simple strategy, beside Lord Alistair as the person of highest rank present, their host put his lips to the ear of the Chevalier.
“It is a thousand pities that we have no better Irishman among us than this fellow,” he whispered. “His Royal Highness insisted on my presenting some representative of Ireland to him; and what could I do?”
“I think you should have declined,” the Chevalier Vane returned acidly. “I consider that the dignity of the Order will be lowered if the Prince bestows it on a man like that.”
“His family is very ancient and illustrious,” Des Louvres suggested.
The Chevalier Vane put on a pitying smile.
“I am afraid his family doesn’t much appreciate the connection. I have never heard of St. Maur’s being asked to——” He named the ducal seat to which St. Maur was in the habit of referring as if it had been his childhood’s home.