CHAPTER VI
A MESSENGER FOR MY LADY
"So you failed to capture him, Monsieur le Commandant?"
The speaker, the Marquis de Beauvillers, leaned more comfortably back in his chair in the small, rather barely furnished barracks' sitting-room in which he found himself later that night and languidly surveyed the florid, irate countenance of the man in uniform before him.
"No, Monsieur le Marquis," said the latter, endeavoring to conceal any evidence of mortification or ill humor in the presence of a visitor so distinguished; "we didn't. But," as if to turn the conversation, with a gesture toward a well-laden table, "I should feel honored if—"
"Thank you, no! After our repast on the beach—however, stand on no ceremony yourself. Nay, I insist—"
"If Monsieur le Marquis insists!—" The commandant drew up his chair; then, reaching for a bottle, poured out a glass of wine, which he offered his guest.
"No, no!" said the Marquis. "But as I remarked before, stand on no ceremony!" And daintily opening a snuff-box, he watched his host with an expression half-amused, half-ironical.
That person ate and drank with little relish; the wine—so he said—had spoiled; and the dishes were without flavor; it was fortunate Monsieur le Marquis had no appetite—