"Why, who did his nibs tell you he was?"
"The Duc de Nevers," I replied.
"Say," said O'Toole, "you don't mean you swallowed that, do you? Do you know what the feller did? Why, one afternoon when a swell guy and his girl were out in their gas wagon a mounted cop in the park pulls them in and takes them over to the 57th Street Court. Well, just as me friend is taking them into the house along walks this Charley Nevers wid his tall silk hat and pearl handle cane, wid a flower in his buttonhole, and his black coat tails dangling around his heels, just like Boni de Castellane, and says he, 'Officer,' says he, 'may I inquire what for you're apprehending this gentleman and lady?' says he. With that me friend hands him out some strong language for buttin' in, and Charley is so much shocked at the insult to himself and the lady that he steps in before the Sergeant and offers to go bond for Douglas, just to go the cop one better, givin' the Sergeant the same line of drip that he has been handin' out to us in the Tombs, about his bein' the son of Oscar, the Duc de Nevers, and related to all the crowned heads in Europe. Then he ups and signs the bail bond for a house and lot that he has never seen in his life. And here he is up agin it. An' it's a good stiff one His Honor will be handin' out to him to my way of thinkin', for these high fallutin' foreigners has got to be put a stop to, and Charley Nevers is a good one to begin on."
"I think you're wrong, O'Toole," said I. "But we can tell better later on."
All that day my thoughts kept reverting to the Duc de Nevers. One thing was more than certain and that was that of all the various personages whom I had met during my journey through the world none was more fitted to be a duke than he. I was obliged to confess that during my hour's interview I had felt myself to be in the company of a superior being, one of different clay from that of which I was composed, a man of better brain, and better education, vastly more rounded and experienced, a cultivated citizen of the world, who would be at home in any company no matter how distinguished and who would rise to any emergency. As I ate my dinner at the club the name De Nevers played mistily in the recesses of my memory. De Nevers! Surely there was something historic about it, some flavor of the days of kings and courtiers. Smoking my cigar in the library I fell into a reverie in which the Tombs, with its towers and grated windows, figured as a gray château of old Tourraine, and Charles Julius Francis in hunting costume as a mediaeval monseigneur with a hooded falcon on his wrist. I awoke to find directly in my line of vision upon the shelf of the alcove in front of me the solid phalanx of the ten volumes of Larousse's "Grand Dictionaire Universe du XIX Siècle," and I reached forward and pulled down the letter "N." "Nevers"—there it was—"Capitol of the Department of Nievre. Ducal palace built in 1475. Charles III de Gonzagne, petit-fils de Charles II," had sold the duchy of Nevers and his other domains in France to Cardinal Mazarin "par acte du Jul. 11, 1659." So far so good. The cardinal had left the duchy by will to Philippe Jules François Mancini, his nephew, who had died May 8, 1707. Ah! Julius Francis! It was like meeting an old friend. Philippe Jules François Mancini. Mazarin had obtained letters confirming him in the possession of the Duchy of Nivernais and Donzois in 1720. Then he had died in 1768, leaving the duchy to Louis Jules Barbon Mancini-Mozarini. This son who was the last Duc of Nivernais, had died in 1798! "He was the last of the name," said Larousse. I rubbed my eyes. It was there fast enough—"last of the name." Something was wrong. Without getting up I rang for a copy of "Burke's Peerage."
"Londonderry, Marquess of, married Oct. 2nd, 1875, Lady Theresa Susey Helen, Lady of Grace of St. John of Jerusalem, eldest daughter of the 19th Earl of Shrewsbury." Dear me! "Dudley, Earl of, married September 14, 1891, Rachael, Lady of Grace of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem, youngest daughter of Charles Henry Gurney." I closed the book and began to think, and the more I thought the more I wondered. There really didn't seem particular need of going further. If the fellow was a fraud, he was a fraud, that was all. But how in Heaven's name could a man make up a story like that! That night I dreamed once more of the ducal palace of Nivernais, only its courtyard resembled that of the Tombs and many couples walked in a straggling line beneath its walls.
A day or two passed and I had heard no more of the Duc Charles Julius when one afternoon a lady called at my office and sent in her name as Mrs. de Nevers. She proved to be an attractive young woman a little over twenty, dressed in black, whose face showed that she had suffered more than a little. She explained that her husband was confined in the Tombs on a charge of perjury. But that was not all—he was worse than a perjurer. He was an impostor—a bigamist. He had another wife living somewhere in England—in Manchester, she thought. Oh, it was too terrible. He had told her that he was the Count Charles de Nevers, eldest son of the Duc de Nevers—in France, you know. And she had believed him. He had had letters to everybody in Montreal, her home, and plenty of money and beautiful clothes. He had dazzled her completely. The wedding had been quite an affair and presents had come from the Duke and Duchess of Nevers, from the Marchioness of Londonderry and from the Countess of Dudley. There were also letters from the Prince and Princess of Aremberg (in Belgium) and the Counts André and Fernand of Nevers. It had all been so wonderful and romantic! Then they had gone on their wedding journey and had been ecstatically happy. In Chicago, they had been received with open arms. That was before the death of the Duke—yes, her mourning was for the Duke. She smiled sadly. I think she still more than half believed that she was a duchess—and she deserved to be if ever any girl did. Then all of a sudden their money had given out and the Duke had been arrested for not paying their hotel bill. Perhaps I would like to see a newspaper clipping? It was dreadful! She was ashamed to be seen anywhere after that. She had even been obliged to pawn his cross of the Legion of Honor, the Leopold Cross of Belgium, and another beautiful decoration which he had been accustomed to wear when they went out to dinner. This was the clipping:
CHICAGO SOCIETY THE DUPE OF BOGUS COUNT
HOTEL AND SEVERAL WHILOM FRIENDS FILLED WITH REGRET—THE "COUNT" ARRESTED
Chicago, Jan. 29.—"Count Charles Julius François de Nevers" was in the Police court to-day for defrauding the Auditorium Annex of a board bill. The Count came to the French Consul, M. Henri Meron, amply supplied with credentials. He posed as Consulting Engineer of the United States Steel Corporation. He was introduced into all the clubs, including the Alliance Française, where he was entertained and spoke on literature.