"The Rainbow Feather Society?"
"Yes. I see you have heard of it, even in your native wilds. Did you ever hear so absurd a name, or imagined so ridiculous a symbol? A feather plucked from a goose and dyed in bars of red, blue, yellow, and green. Symbolical, no doubt, but no one outside the society knows the meanings thereof."
"Who belongs to this association?"
"Long-haired Poles and Russian exiles, and all that sort," replied the signor in a tone of disgust; "the most respectable member is a fellow called Darcy Herne."
"Do you know him?"
"Yes. I met him once at a musical party given by the lady. At least, it was called so," said Baldini, correcting himself; "but I daresay it was a gathering of conspirators. This Herne was there, and seemed a cracked kind of creature, full of whims. Believes in equality, and looking after the oppressed, and all that sort of rubbish. Religious, too, and has the Bible at his finger ends. Do you know him?" asked the musician in his turn.
"I do. He is the Squire of Barnstead, near which village I live."
"Then why doesn't he look after his preserves instead of mixing himself up in Catinka's mad schemes? She'll get him into trouble."
"I met her once," said Paul thoughtfully, "but I had not much opportunity of reading her character. What kind of young woman is she?"
"Oh, one of the Charlotte Corday sort!"