"An air with a story, perhaps?" asked Count Victor.

"They are all stories," answered this odd person, so responsive to the yell of guttural reeds. "In that they are like our old friend Balhaldie, whose tales, as you may remember--the old rogue!--would fill many pages."

"Many leaves, indeed," said Count Victor--"preferably fig-leaves."

"The bagpipe moves me like a weeping woman, and here, for all that, is the most indifferent of musicians."

"_Tenez!_ monsieur; I present my homages to the best of flageolet-players," said Count Victor, smiling.

"The flageolet! a poor instrument, and still--and still not without its qualities. Here's one at least who finds it the very salve for weariness. Playing it, I often feel in the trance of rapture. I wish to G.o.d I could live my life upon the flute, for there I'm on the best and cleanest terms with myself, and no backwash of penitence. Eh! listen to me preaching!"

"There is one air I have heard of yours--so!--that somehow haunts me,"

said Count Victor; "its conclusion seemed to baffle you."

"So it does, man, so it does! If I found the end of that, I fancy I would find a new MacTaggart. It's--it's--it's not a run of notes I want--indeed the air's my own, and I might make it what I chose--but an experience or something of that sort outside my opportunities, or my recollection."

Count Victor's glance fell on Mrs. Petullo, but hers was not on him; she sought the eyes of the Chamberlain.

"Madame looks your way," he indicated, and at once the Chamberlain's visage changed.

"She'd be better to look to her man," he said, so roughly that the Count once more had all his misgivings revived.

"We may not guess how bitter a prospect that may be," said he with pity for the creature, and he moved towards her, with the Chamberlain, of necessity, but with some reluctance, at his heel.

Mrs. Petullo saw the lagging nature of her old love's advance; it was all that was needed now to make her evening horrible.

"Oh!" said she, smiling, but still with other emotions than amus.e.m.e.nt or goodwill struggling in her countenance, "I was just fancying you would be none the waur o' a wife to look to your b.u.t.tons."

"b.u.t.tons!" repeated the Chamberlain.

"See," she said, and lightly turned him round so that his back was shown, with his plaid no longer concealing the absence of a b.u.t.ton from a skirt of his Highland jacket.

Count Victor looked, and a rush of emotions fairly overwhelmed him, for he knew he had the missing b.u.t.ton in his pocket.

Here was the nocturnal marauder of Doom, or the very devil was in it!

The Chamberlain laughed, but still betrayed a little confusion: Mrs.

Petullo wondered at the anger of his eyes, and a moment later launched upon an abstracted minuet with Montaiglon.

CHAPTER XXVII -- THE DUEL ON THE SANDS

The Chamberlain stood near the door with his hand in the bosom of his coat, fingering the flageolet that was his constant companion even in the oddest circ.u.mstances, and Count Victor went up to him, the b.u.t.ton concealed in his palm.

"Well, you are for going?" said Simon, more like one who puts a question than states a position, for some hours of Count Victor's studied contempt created misgivings.

"_Il y a terme a tout!_ And possibly monsieur will do me the honour to accompany me so far as the avenue?"

"Sir!" said the Chamberlain.

"I have known men whose reputations were mainly a matter of clothes.

Monsieur is the first I have met whose character hung upon a single b.u.t.ton. Permit me to return your b.u.t.ton with a million regards."

He held the silver lozenge out upon his open hand.

"There are many b.u.t.tons alike," said the Chamberlain. Then he checked himself abruptly and--"Well, d.a.m.n it! I'll allow it's mine," said he.

"I should expect just this charming degree of manly frankness from monsieur. A b.u.t.ton is a b.u.t.ton, too, and a devilish serious thing when, say, off a foil."

He still held out the accusation on his open hand, and bowed with his eyes on those of the other man.

At that MacTaggart lightly struck up the hand, and the b.u.t.ton rolled twinkling along the floor.

Count Victor glanced quickly round him to see that no one noticed. The hall, but for some domestics, was left wholly to themselves. The ball was over, the company had long gone, and he had managed to stay his own departure by an interest feigned in the old armour that hung, with all its gallant use accomplished, on the walls, followed by a game at cards with three of the ducal _entourage_, two of whom had just departed. The melancholy of early morning in a banquet-room had settled down, and all the candles guttered in the draught of doors.

"I fancy monsieur will agree that this is a business calling for the open air," said Count Victor, no way disturbed by the rudeness. "I abhor the stench of hot grease."

"To-morrow--" began the Chamberlain, and Count Victor interrupted.

"To-morrow," said he, "is for reflection; to-day is for deeds. Look! it will be totally clear in a little."

"I'm the last man who would spoil the prospect of a ploy," said the Chamberlain, changing his Highland sword for one of the rapiers on the wall that was more in conformity with the Frenchman's weapon; "and yet this is scarcely the way to find your Drimdarroch."

"_Mais oui!_ Our Drimdarroch can afford to wait his turn. Drimdarroch is wholly my affair; this is partly Doom's, though I, it seems, was made the poor excuse for your inexplicable insolence."

The Chamberlain slightly started, turned away, and smiled. "I was right," thought he. "Here's a fellow credits himself with being the cause of jealousy."

"Very well!" he said aloud at last, "this way," and with the sword tucked under his arm he led, by a side-door in the turret-angle, into the garden.

Count Victor followed, stepping gingerly, for the snow was ankle-deep upon the lawn, and his red-heeled dancing-shoes were thin.

"We know we must all die," said he in a little, pausing with a shiver of cold, and a glance about that bleak grey garden--"We know we must all die, but I have a preference for dying in dry hose, if die I must.

Cannot monsieur suggest a more comfortable quarter for our little affair?"

"Monsieur is not so dirty particular," said the Chamberlain. "If I sink my own rheumatism, it is not too much for you to risk your hose."

"The main avenue--" suggested Count Victor.

"Is seen from every window of the ball-room, and the servants are still there. Here is a great to-do about nothing!"

"But still, monsieur, I must protest on behalf of my poor hose," said Count Victor, always smiling.

"By G.o.d! I could fight on my bare feet," cried the Chamberlain.

"Doubtless, monsieur; but there is so much in custom, _n'est ce pas?_ and my ancestors have always been used with boots."