“Sit down,” answered Madame Riano; “you are an honest fellow, and I’ll not mention Saxe again except to say that he is the wildest, craftiest, boldest roué—”
I was going, but Francezka, looking warningly at Madame Riano, said to me, with something softly trenchant in her voice:
“Remain, Babache.”
At that moment I looked up and saw Gaston Cheverny walking across the grass in company with Jacques Haret.
If the devil himself had appeared he would not have created greater consternation than Jacques Haret at that moment. Madame Riano sat bolt upright, brought her fan to the charge, so to speak, and glared at Jacques Haret. She knew the story of Lisa. Francezka’s face grew scarlet with wrath; she had never thought it worth while to forbid Jacques Haret her presence, never 426 dreaming he would dare to face her. Had he been alone, or with any one but Gaston, I feel sure she would have ordered him from her presence, but to do that when he came by Gaston’s invitation and in his company was more than even Francezka was prepared for. Gaston, I thought, looked a little embarrassed, though not fully conscious of the gross affront he was putting on Francezka in bringing Jacques Haret there. It occurred to me there was some compulsion about it. As for Jacques Haret, there was a laughing devil in his eye, which showed that he thoroughly enjoyed the situation. He was dressed from top to toe in Gaston’s clothes—a suit of snuff-colored clothes and a purple waistcoat, which I had often seen Gaston wear.
“I found this gentleman sunning himself in the court of the Palais Royal,” said Gaston pleasantly, “and not having met him since my return, I brought him home that we may talk at our leisure and recall the old days when he was a lad at Castle Haret and a playmate of mine and my brother’s. We have already had a long conversation and some good wine in my study.”
It was the first time since Gaston’s return that I had heard him mention Regnard’s name. Francezka gave Jacques Haret a cold bow. I do not think Madame Riano would have hesitated to order him out of the garden, but she never could resist the charm of battle. Jacques Haret was worthy of her steel in a wordy war, and the temptation was too great for this militant lady. There was here a commingling of tragedy and comedy such as I had seldom seen. I took it that poor old Peter had not seen Jacques Haret during the time he 427 had spent in Gaston’s rooms. Madame Riano opened the action by saying sternly:
“What are you doing here, Jacques Haret?”
“Come to pay my respects to your ladyship,” was Jacques Haret’s undaunted reply. “Think you, Madame, that I could remain long in Paris and fail to pay you my devoirs?”
Madame Riano, giving no attention to this speech, scrutinized Jacques Haret, and then said abruptly: