"What is that, sir?"
"That fool Quixande has got into a mess in Paris--got a sword through his ribs."
"Quixande?" queried Eager, not perceiving the relevancy of the matter.
"He has no issue--none that can inherit, that is. One of those whelps is his only sister's son and so comes in for the title. Which?"
"H'm, yes. It's mighty awkward. I suppose you couldn't make one of them Earl of Quixande and the other Carron of Carne?"
"It would be a solution. But which? Which? Such matters are not settled by guesswork."
"We can only wait and see."
"If Quixande dies we cannot wait--the succession cannot."
"For his own sake we'll hope he'll pull through. He may repent of his sins."
"Quixande?"--with raised brows, and a shake of the head. "You don't know him."