The colour came flooding back to Léonie’s cheeks. “Monseigneur!” she gasped, and flew across the room towards him, laughing and crying at once. “Oh, Monseigneur, you have come, you have come!” She landed breathless in his arms, and clung to him.

“Why, ma fille!” said his Grace gently. “What is all this? Did you doubt I should come?”

“Take that pistol from her,” recommended Rupert faintly, but with a smile.

The pistol was pressed to his Grace’s heart. He removed it from Léonie’s clutch, and pocketed it. He looked down at the curly head with a curious smile, and presently stroked it.

“My dear infant, you must not cry. Come, it is in very truth Monseigneur! There is nothing to frighten you.”

“Oh, I am n-not frightened!” said Léonie. “I am so very glad!”

“Then I beg you will signify your gladness in a more becoming manner. May I ask what you are doing in those clothes?”

Léonie kissed his hand, and mopped her eyes.

“I like them, Monseigneur,” she said, with a twinkle.

“I doubt it not.” Avon went past her to the bed, and bent over it, laying a cool white hand over Rupert’s galloping pulse. “You are hurt, boy?”

Rupert managed to smile.

“It’s naught. A hole in my shoulder, plague take it!”

His Grace produced a flask from one pocket, and put it to Rupert’s lips. Rupert drank, and the blue shade went from about his mouth.

“I believe I have to thank you,” said the Duke, and removed a pillow. “You did well, my child. In fact, you have surprised me. I am in your debt.”

Rupert flushed.

“Pooh, ’twas nothing! I did precious little. ’Twas Léonie got us off. ’Fore Gad, I’m devilish pleased to see you, Justin!”

“Yes, so you remarked.” His Grace put up his quizzing glass and eyed the coins that lay scattered over the bed. “What, may I ask, is all this wealth?”

“Oh, that’s our money, Monseigneur!” said Léonie. “We were counting it when you came.”

“Our money!” ejaculated Rupert. “That’s rich, ’pon my soul it is! There’s some on the floor still.”

“And what,” said his Grace, turning to the broken bowl, “is this?”

“Rupert did it,” said Léonie. “It is his broth, but when we heard you coming he threw it on the floor.”

“My appearance seems to have produced a strange effect upon you,” remarked his Grace. “Can either of you tell me where is my very dear friend Saint-Vire?”

Rupert struggled up on his elbow.

“Tare an’ ouns, how did you know ’twas he?”

His Grace put him back on his pillows.

“It is my business always to know, Rupert.”

“Well, I always swore you were at the bottom of it! But how the deuce did you find out that he’d got Léonie? Where were you? How did you guess I was after them?”

“Yes, and how did you know where to find us?” asked Léonie. “Why did he take me?”

The Duke took off his greatcoat, and smoothed a wrinkle from the velvet sleeve beneath.

“You bewilder me, my children. One question at a time, I beg of you.”

“How did you know who had run off with Léonie?”

The Duke sat down by the bed, and snapped his fingers to Léonie, who came at once to sit at his feet.

“It was really quite simple,” he said.

“Simple, was it, egad! Then for the love of God, Justin, tell us what we’ve been doing, for I’ll be hanged if I know!”

Avon twisted his rings.

“Oh, I think you do!” he said. “Léonie was abducted by a very pretty rogue, and you rescued her.”

“She rescued herself,” chuckled Rupert.

“Yes. I did,” Léonie nodded. “When the wheel came off I slipped out of the coach, and ran down the road. Then Rupert came.”

“Yes, but there’s more to it than that,” interrupted Rupert. “What did Saint-Vire want with Léonie? Do you know that?”

“I do, my dear boy.”

“Well, I think it was a great piece of impudence,” said Léonie. “Why did he want me?”

“My children, you cannot expect me to tell you all my secrets.”

“But, Monseigneur, I do not see that that is fair! We have been on a big adventure, and we have done it all by ourselves, and we do not know what it is about in the very least, and now you will not tell us!”

“I think you might tell us, Justin,” said Rupert. “We can be discreet, you know.”

“No, my children. My opinion of your discretion is not so great as my opinion of your courage and resource. By the way, what did you do with Mr. Manvers’ roan?”

Rupert stared.

“Lord, is there anything you don’t know? Who told you that?”

“Mr. Manvers himself,” replied the Duke. “I arrived at Avon on the evening of the day you⁠—er⁠—left. Mr. Manvers came to retrieve his property.”

“Curse his impudence!” said Rupert. “I left him a message! Does the fellow think I’m not to be trusted with a horse?”

“That was rather the impression he gave me,” said his Grace. “What did you do with it?”

“Well, to tell the truth, I sold it,” replied Rupert, grinning.

The Duke lay back in his chair.

“Then I very much fear that Mr. Manvers will be satisfied with nothing less than our lives,” he sighed. “Pray do not imagine that I disapprove of your action, but I should like to know why you disposed of his roan thus speedily?”

“Well, you see, I’d no money,” explained Rupert. “I forgot I’d my pin to sell. Besides, what else could I do with the animal? I didn’t want to bring it to France.”

The Duke looked at him in some amusement.

“Did you set out on this venture penniless?” he inquired.

“No, I’d a couple of crowns in my pocket,” Rupert answered.

“You make me feel incredibly old,” complained his Grace. He smiled down at Léonie. “What happened to you, my infant?”

“Oh, I was just teasing Rupert!” Léonie replied buoyantly. “That is why I am in these clothes. I put them on to make him angry. And I ran away from him into the wood, and that pig-person was there⁠—”

“One moment, my infant. You will pardon my ignorance, but I do not know who the⁠—er⁠—pig-person is meant to be.”

“Why, the wicked Comte!” said Léonie. “He is a pig-person, Monseigneur.”

“I see. I do not think I admire your choice of adjective, though.”

“Well, I think it is a very good name for him,” said Léonie, unabashed. “He seized me, and threw me into his coach, and I bit him till there was blood.”

“You distress me, child. But proceed.”

“I called to Rupert as loud as I could, and I kicked the pig-person⁠—”

“The Comte de Saint-Vire.”

“Yes, the pig-person⁠—on his legs a great many times. He did not like it at all.”

“That,” said his Grace, “does not altogether surprise me.”

“No. If I had had my dagger I would have killed him, for I was very angry⁠—oh, but very angry! But I had no dagger, so I could only call to Rupert.”

“The Comte de Saint-Vire has yet something to be thankful for,” murmured his Grace. “He little knows the temper of my ward.”

“Well, but would not you have been angry, Monseigneur?”

“Very, infant; but continue.”

“Oh, you know the rest, Monseigneur! He gave me an evil drink⁠—pig-wash! He called it coffee.”

“Then let us also call it coffee, child, I beg of you. I can support ‘pig-person,’ but ‘pig-wash’ I will not endure.”

“But it was, Monseigneur! I threw it at him, and he swore.”

His Grace regarded her inscrutably.

“You seem to have been a pleasant travelling companion,” he remarked. “What then?”

“Then he brought more pig⁠—coffee, and he made me drink it. It was drugged, Monseigneur, and it made me go to sleep.”

“Poor infant!” His Grace tweaked one curl. “But a most indomitable infant withal.”

“There is nothing more to tell you, Monseigneur. I woke up next day at the inn at Le Havre, and I pretended to be asleep. Then the coach broke, and I escaped.”

“And what of Rupert?” The Duke smiled across at his brother.

“Faith, I don’t think I stopped running till I came here!” said Rupert. “I am still something out of breath.”

“Oh, Rupert was very clever!” Léonie struck in. “Monseigneur, he even sold his diamond to follow me, and he came to France in a dirty old boat, without a hat or a sword!”

“Nonsense, silly chit, Fletcher gave me his Sunday beaver. You talk too much, Léonie. Stop it!”

“I do not talk too much, do I, Monseigneur? And it is as I say. I do not know what would have happened to me but for Rupert.”

“Nor I, ma fille. We owe him a very big debt of gratitude. It is not often that I put my faith in another, but I did so these last two days.”

Rupert blushed and stammered.

“ ’Twas Léonie did it all. She brought me here, wherever we are. Where are we, Justin?”

“You are at Le Dennier, some ten miles from Le Havre, my children.”

“Well, that’s one mystery solved, at all events!” said Rupert. “Léonie went ’cross country till the head turned on my shoulders. Oh, she diddled Saint-Vire finely, I give you my word!”

“But if you had not come I could not have got away,” Léonie pointed out.

“If it comes to that,” said Rupert, “the Lord alone knows what would have happened if you’d not caught us, Justin.”

“I understand that my bloodthirsty ward would have shot the so dear Comte⁠—er⁠—dead.”

“Yes, I would,” Léonie averred. “That would have taught him a lesson!”

“It would indeed,” agreed his Grace.

“Will you shoot him for me, please, Monseigneur?”

“Certainly not, infant. I shall be delighted to see the dear Comte.”

Rupert looked at him sharply.

“I’ve sworn to have his blood, Justin.”

His Grace smiled.

“I am before you, my dear, by some twenty years, but I bide my time.”

“Ay, so I guessed. What’s your game, Avon?”

“One day I will tell you, Rupert. Not today.”

“Well, I don’t envy him if you’ve your claws on him,” said Rupert frankly.

“No, I think he is not to be envied,” said his Grace. “He should be here soon now. Infant, a trunk has been carried to your chamber. Oblige me by dressing yourself once more à la jeune fille. You will find a package sent by my Lady Fanny, which contains, I believe, a sprigged muslin. Put it on: it should suit you.”

“Why, Monseigneur, did you bring my clothes?” cried Léonie.

“I did, my child.”

“By Gad, you’re an efficient devil!” remarked Rupert. “Come Justin! Tell us your part in the venture.”

“Yes, Monseigneur, please!” Léonie seconded.

“There is very little to tell,” sighed his Grace. “My share in the chase is woefully unexciting.”

“Let’s have it!” requested Rupert. “What brought you down to Avon so opportunely? Damme, there’s something uncanny about you, Satanas, so there is!”

Léonie fired up at that.

“You shall not call him by that name!” she said fiercely. “You only dare to do it because you are ill and I cannot fight you!”

“My esteemed ward, what is this lamentable talk of fighting? I trust you are not in the habit of fighting Rupert?”

“Oh no, Monseigneur, I only did it once! He just ran and hid behind a chair. He was afraid!”

“Small wonder!” retorted Rupert. “She’s a wildcat, Justin. It’s Have-at-you! before you know where you are, ’pon my oath it is!”

“It seems I stayed away too long,” said his Grace sternly.

“Yes, Monseigneur, much, much too long!” said Léonie, kissing his hand. “But I was good⁠—oh, many times!”

His Grace’s lips twitched. At once the dimple peeped out.

“I knew you were not really angry!” Léonie said. “Now tell us what you did.”

The Duke flicked her cheek with one finger.

“I came home, my infant, to find my house invaded by the Merivales, your duenna being prostrate with the vapours.”

“Bah, she is a fool!” said Léonie scornfully. “Why was Milor’ Merivale there?”

“I was about to tell you, my dear, when you interrupted me with your stricture upon my cousin. My Lord and Lady Merivale were there to help find you.”

“Faith, it must have been a merry meeting!” put in the irrepressible Rupert.

“It was not without its amusing side. From them I learned of your disappearance.”

“Did you think we had eloped?” Rupert inquired.

“That explanation did present itself to me,” admitted the Grace.

“Eloped?” Léonie echoed. “With Rupert? Ah, bah, I would as soon elope with the old goat in the field!”

“If it comes to that, I’d as soon elope with a tigress!” retorted Rupert. “Sooner, by Gad!”

“When this interchange of civilities is over,” said his Grace languidly, “I will continue. But do not let me interrupt you.”

“Ay, go on,” said Rupert. “What next?”

“Next, my children, Mr. Manvers bounced in upon us. I fear that Mr. Manvers is not pleased with you, Rupert, or with me, but let that pass. From him I gathered that you, Rupert, had gone off in pursuit of a coach containing a French gentleman. After that it was easy. I journeyed that night to Southampton⁠—you did not think to board the Queen, boy?”

“I remembered her, but I was in no mood to waste time riding to Southampton. Go on.”

“For which I thank you. You would undoubtedly have sold her had you taken her to France. I crossed in her yesterday, and came into Le Havre at sundown. There, my children, I made sundry inquiries, and there also I spent the night. From the innkeeper I learned that Saint-Vire had set off with Léonie by coach for Rouen at two in the afternoon, and further that you, Rupert, had hired a horse half an hour or more later⁠—by the way, have you still that horse, or has it already gone the way of its fellow?”

“No, it’s here right enough,” chuckled Rupert.

“You amaze me. All this, I say, I learned from the innkeeper. It was rather too late then for me to set out in search of you, and, moreover, I half expected you to arrive at Le Havre. When you did not arrive I feared that you, Rupert, had failed to catch my very dear friend Saint-Vire. So this morning, my children, I took a coach along the road to Rouen, and came upon a derelict.” His Grace produced his snuffbox, and opened it. “My very dear friend’s coach, with his arms blazoned upon the door. It was scarcely wise of my very dear friend to leave his coach lying about for me to find, but it is possible of course, that he did not expect me.”

“He is a fool, Monseigneur. He did not know even that I was pretending to be asleep.”

“According to you, my infant, the world is peopled by fools. I believe you have reason. To resume. It seemed probable that Léonie had escaped; further, it seemed probable that she had escaped towards Le Havre. But since neither of you had arrived at that port I guessed that you were concealed somewhere on the road to Le Havre. Therefore, mes enfants, I drove back along the road until I came to a lane that gave on to it. Down this lane I proceeded.”

“We went across the fields,” Léonie cut in.

“A shorter way, no doubt, but one could hardly expect a coach to take it. At the hamlet I came upon they knew nothing of you. I drove on, and came at length, by devious ways, to this place. The luck, you see, favoured me. Let us hope that my very dear friend will be equally fortunate. Infant, go and change your clothes.”

“Yes, Monseigneur. What are we going to do now?”

“That remains to be seen,” said Avon. “Away with you!”

Léonie departed. His Grace looked at Rupert.

“My young madman, has a surgeon seen your wound?”

“Ay, he came last night, confound him!”

“What said he?”

“Oh, naught! He’ll come again today.”

“From your expression I am led to infer that he prophesied some days in bed for you, child.”

“Ten, plague take him! But I shall be well enough by tomorrow.”

“You will remain there, nevertheless, until the worthy surgeon permits you to arise. I must send for Harriet.”

“Lord, must you? Why?”

“To chaperon my ward,” said his Grace calmly. “I hope my letter will not bring about a fresh attack of the vapours. Gaston had best start for Le Havre at once.” He rose. “I want pen, ink, and paper. I suppose I shall find them downstairs. You would be the better for an hour’s sleep, my dear.”

“But what of Saint-Vire?” Rupert asked.

“The so dear Comte is in all probability scouring the countryside. I hope to see him soon.”

“Ay, but what will you do?”

“I? I shall do precisely nothing.”

“I’d give a pony to see his face when he finds you here!”

“Yes, I do not think he will be pleased,” said his Grace, and went out.