The Sunday morning that followed Barty's début at Brossard's the boys went to church in the Rue de l'Église, Passy—and he with them, for he had been brought up a Roman Catholic. And I went round to Mlle. Jalabert's to see my mother and sister.
I told them all about the new boy, and they were much interested. Suddenly my mother exclaimed:
"Bartholomew Josselin? why, dear me! that must be Lord Runswick's son—Lord Runswick, who was the eldest son of the present Marquis of Whitby. He was in the 17th lancers with your uncle Charles, who was very fond of him. He left the army twenty years ago, and married Lady Selina Jobhouse—and his wife went mad. Then he fell in love with the famous Antoinette Josselin at the 'Bouffes,' and wanted so much to marry her that he tried to get a divorce; it was tried in the House of Lords, I believe; but he didn't succeed—so they—a—well—they contracted a—a morganatic marriage, you know; and your friend was born. And poor Lord Runswick was killed in a duel about a dog, when his son was two years old; and his mother left the stage, and—"
Just here the beautiful Miss ——— came in with her sister, and there was no more of Josselin's family history; and I forgot all about it for the day. For I passionately loved the beautiful Miss ———; I was just thirteen!
But next morning I said to him at breakfast, in English,
"Wasn't your father killed in a duel?"
"Yes," said Barty, looking grave.
"Wasn't he called Lord Runswick?"
"Yes," said Barty, looking graver still.
"Then why are you called Josselin?"