“Castrillon! I should like to meet Castrillon.”
“Then I will tell him. You and he can take supper together. He doesn't want to join the big party. He has the artist's detestation of the chattering mob. How well he plays! And what a triumph for—Madame!”
“A great triumph.”
“This corridor leads to my tiny cupboard—the merest cupboard! Follow me.” They went through several doors and up several small staircases till they reached a small apartment furnished in old blue damask, heavily fringed with tarnished gold and silver decorations.
“A few souvenirs of my hereditary castle in Alberia,” explained the Prince; “they relieve my sense of exile.”
He walked across the floor and tapped on what appeared to be a portion of the wall.
“We are here,” said he.
The secret door was opened, and Castrillon, still wearing his costume as the Chevalier, joined them. If one may believe Prince d'Alchingen's account of this unfortunate meeting, the young men greeted each other with composure. D'Alchingen declares that he studied Orange to the depths of his soul, and he does him the justice to say that he did not make a movement or utter a word which denoted the least emotion. There was not any sort of alteration in his countenance, and he led the conversation with a tranquillity and a gaiety really enchanting. When the supper was served, His Excellency had no hesitation in leaving the rivals together—so convinced was he that they would remain on good terms.
“M. de Castrillon,” said Orange, when the Prince had gone, “I cannot sit down at supper with you. We have to settle an old score.”