As I stood up, booted and ready to descend, there came a gentle tap at my door, and, in answer to my “Enter,” there stood before me a very dainty and foppish figure. I stared hard at the effeminate face and the long fair locks of my visitor, thinking that I had become the dupe of my eyes.
“M. de Vilmorin!” I murmured in astonishment, as he came forward, having closed the door. “You here?”
In answer, he bowed and greeted me with cold ceremoniousness.
“I have been in Blois since yesterday, Monsieur.”
“In truth I might have guessed it, Vicomte. Your visit flatters me, for, of course, I take it, you are come to pay me your respects,” I said ironically. “A glass of wine, Vicomte?”
“A thousand thanks, Monsieur—no,” he answered coldly in his mincing tones. “It is concerning your affair with M. le Marquis de St. Auban that I am come.” And drawing forth a dainty kerchief, which filled the room with the scent of ambregris, he tapped his lips with it affectedly.
“Do you come as friend or—in some other capacity?”
“I come as mediator.”
“Mediator!” I echoed, and my brow grew dark. “Sdeath! Has St. Auban's courage lasted just so long as the sting of my whip?”
He raised his eyebrows after a supercilious fashion that made me thirst to strike the chair from under him.