"I tell it distinctly as a fact. The Papa who received the woman's confession repeated the tale on his own deathbed, from whence it reached me."

"Priests can be liars, whether Greek or Roman," said the Prince, in a voice almost suffocated with pa.s.sion; and then, suddenly checking the course of his anger, he turned to Kate with a sickly smile, and said, "Mademoiselle will pardon a rudeness in her presence which nothing short of so gross a calumny could have elicited."

"I will furnish you with all the names to-morrow, Monsieur le Prince,"

said D'Esmonde, in a whisper; and sauntered away into the adjoining room.

"You look pale, Miss Dalton," said the Prince.

"That shocking story--"

"Which of course you don't believe."

"The Abbe D'Esmonde I have always heard to be a person of strict veracity and of extreme caution."

"Be careful of him, Miss Dalton. It is not without good reason that I say this."

There was a degree of solemnity in the way he uttered these words that made Kate thoughtful and serious. Unaccustomed to see, in society, anything but features of pleasure and amus.e.m.e.nt, she was suddenly awakened to the conviction that its calm waters covered rocks and quicksands as perilous as stormier seas. Could people so full of amiabilities be dangerous acquaintances? Was there poison in this charmed cup? Was the doubt which sprang to her mind But she had not time for the inquiry, as the Prince offered her his arm to the supper-room.

CHAPTER XXV. A "LEVANTER."

IN our penal settlements nothing is more common than to find the places of honor and distinction filled by men who were once convicts, and who may date the favorable turn of their fortune to the day of their having transgressed the law. So in certain Continental cities are individuals to be found occupying conspicuous stations, and enjoying a large share of influence, whose misdeeds at home first made them exiles, and who, leaving England in shame, are received abroad with honor. There is this difference between the two cases; for while the convict owes all his future advancement to his own efforts at reformation, the absentee obtains his "brevet" of character by the simple fact of his extradition.

He shakes off his rascalities as he does his rheumatism, when he quits the foggy climate of England, and emerges spotless and without stain upon the sh.o.r.es of Ostend or Boulogne.

To do this, however, he must not bear a plebeian name, nor pertain to the undistinguishable herd of vulgar folk. He must belong to some family of mark and note, with peers for his uncles and peeresses for cousins; nor is he always safe if he himself be not a member of an hereditary legislature. We have been led to these reflections by having to chronicle the arrival in Florence of Lord Norwood; a vague and confused murmur of his having done something, people knew not what, in England having preceded him. Some called him "poor Norwood," and expressed sorrow for him; others said he was a capital fellow, up to everything, and that they were delighted at his coming. A few, of very tender and languishing virtue themselves, wondered if they ought to meet him as before; but the prevailing impression was charitable. The affair at Graham's might have been exaggerated, the Newmarket business was possibly a mistake. "Any man might owe money, and not be able to pay it," was a sentiment pretty generally repeated and as generally believed; and, in fact, if to be tried by one's peers be an English privilege, the n.o.ble Viscount here enjoyed it at the hands of a jury unimpeachable on the score of equality.

We are far from suggesting that Norwood's character as a "shot" had any concern with this mild verdict; but certain it is, his merits in this capacity were frequently remembered, and always with honorable mention.

"No man plays ecarte better," said Haggerstone, while as yet the Viscount's arrival was unknown, and as he discussed the rumors upon him before a group of listening Englishmen at the door of the "Club". "No man plays ecarte better, nor with better luck!" added he, with a chuckle that was intended to convey a meaning beyond the mere words.

"Has he been a large winner, then?" asked one of the bystanders, respectfully, looking to the Colonel for information; for, in a certain set, he was regarded as the most thoroughly conversant man with all the faults and follies of high life.

"No man wins invariably, sir, except Brooke Morris, perhaps," replied he, always happy at the opportunity to quote the name of a man of fashion in a tone of familiarity.

"That was the Mo-Mo-Morris that ruined Hopeton, was n't it?" broke in Purvis, quite forgetting that the individual he addressed was reported to have a share in the transaction. Haggerstone, however, did not deign a reply, but puffed his cigar in perfect contempt of his questioner.

"Who is this coming up here?" said one; "he looks like a new arrival.

He is English, certainly; that frock has a London cut there's no mistaking."

"By Jove, it's Norwood!" cried Haggerstone, edging away, as he spoke, from the group. Meanwhile, the n.o.ble Viscount, a well-dressed, well-whiskered man, of about thirty, came leisurely forward, and touching his hat familiarly, said,

"Ha! you here, Haggerstone! What is Florence doing?"

"Pretty much as it always did, my Lord. I don't think its morals have improved since you knew it a few years ago."

"Or you wouldn't be here, Haggy, eh?" said the Viscount, laughing at his own joke. "Not suit your book if it took a virtuous turn, eh?"

"I plead guilty, my Lord. I believe I do like to shoot folly as it flies."

"Ah, yes! And I've seen you taking a sitting shot at it too, Haggy,"

said the other, with a heartier laugh, which, despite of the Colonel's efforts not to feel, brought a crimson flush to his cheek.

"Is there any play going on, Haggy?"

"Nothing that you would call play, my Lord; a little whist for Nap points, a little ecarte, a little piquet, and, now and then, we have a round game at Sabloukoff's."

"Poor old fellow! and he 's alive still? And where 's the Jariominski?"

"Gone back to Russia."

"And Maretti?"

"In Saint Angelo, I believe."

"And that little Frenchman what was his name? his father was a Marshal of the Empire."

"D'Acosta."

"The same. Where is he?"

"Shot himself this spring."

"Pretty girl, his sister. What became of her?"

"Some one told me that she had become a Soeur de Charite."

"What a pity! So they 're all broken up, I see."

"Completely so."

"Then what have you got in their place?"

"Nothing fast, my Lord, except, perhaps, your friends the Onslows."

"Yes; they 're going it, I hear. Is n't there a rich niece, or cousin, or something of that sort, with them?"

"They've got a prettyish girl, called Dalton; but as to her being rich, I think it very unlikely, seeing that her family are living in Germany in a state of the very closest poverty."

"And Master George, how does he carry on the war?" said the Viscount, who seemed quite heedless of the other's correction.

"He plays a little peddling ecarte now and then; but you can see that he has burned his fingers, and dreads the fire. They say he 's in love with the Dalton girl."

"Of course he is, if they live in the same house; and he 's just the kind of fool to marry her, too. Who 's that little fellow, listening to us?"

"Purvis, my Lord; don't you remember him? He's one of the Ricketts's set."

"To be sure I do. How are you, Purvis? You look so young and so fresh, I could not persuade myself it could be my old acquaintance."