"Aha? I don't think you were well advised to do so again. He would have no lack of friends, and with a small-sword he is a veritable devil. It would not be wise to show your enmity, for you will meet him everywhere, and he is the ladies' darling. That says much, hein?"
"And when I saw him last," spluttered Bancroft, "he was clad in a coat I'd not give a lackey, and had as much conversation as a scarecrow!"
"Yes? I heard some talk of that. He is a marvel, our Philippe."
"Curse all marvels!" said Bancroft fervently.
[Eight]
In Which Philip Delivers Himself of a Rondeau
M. Le Comte De Saint-Dantin gave a select dinner and card-party some few weeks after the coming of Mr. Bancroft. Only his chosen intimates were invited, and amongst them was Philip. At half-past five all the guests, save one, were assembled in the library, and Saint-Dantin was comparing his chronometer with the clock on the mantelpiece.
"Now what comes to Philippe?" he inquired of no one in particular. "Where is the child?"
"He was at the ball last night," said M. de Chatelin, smoothing his ruffles. "He left early and in great haste." He raised his eyes and they were twinkling. "The pearl that hung from Mademoiselle de Marcherand's right ear inspired him and he fled."
"Fled? Why?"