These Old Shades Read Online Free PDF Page B

of himself Hugh smiled.
    “It is a race betwixt you, then?”
    “Not a whit. I should have said that Armand’s is a sullen detestation. Unlike me, he is content to hate.”
    “He, I suppose, would sell his soul for Saint-Vire’s shoes.”
    “And Saint-Vire,” said Avon gently, “would sell his soul to keep those shoes from Armand.”
    “Yes, one knows that. It was common gossip at the time that that was his reason for marrying. One could not accuse him of loving his wife!”
    “No,” said Justin, and chuckled as though at some secret thought.
    “Well,” Hugh went on, “Armand’s hopes of the title were very surely dashed when Madame presented Saint-Vire with a son!”
    “Precisely,” said Justin.
    “A triumph for Saint-Vire, that!”
    “A triumph indeed,” suavely agreed his Grace.
     
    CHAPTER IV
    His Grace of Avon Becomes Further Acquainted with his Page
     
    For Léon the days passed swiftly, each one teeming with some new excitement. Never in his life had he seen such sights as now met his eyes. He was dazzled by the new life spread before him; from living in a humble, dirty tavern, he was transported suddenly into gorgeous surroundings, fed with strange foods, clad in fine clothes, and taken into the midst of aristocratic Paris. All at once life seemed to consist of silks and diamonds, bright lights, and awe-inspiring figures. Ladies whose fingers were covered with rings, and whose costly brocades held an elusive perfume, would stop to smile at him sometimes; great gentlemen with powdered wigs and high heels would flip his head with careless fingers as they passed. Even Monseigneur sometimes spoke to him.
    Fashionable Paris grew accustomed to see him long before he became accustomed to his new existence. After a while people ceased to stare at him when he came in Avon’s wake, but it was some time before he ceased to gaze on all that met his eyes, in wondering appreciation.
    To the amazement of Avon’s household, he still persisted in his worship of the Duke. Nothing could shake him from his standpoint, and if one of the lackeys vented his outraged feelings below-stairs in a tirade against Avon, Léon was up in arms at once, blind rage taking possession of him. Since the Duke had ordained that none should lay violent hands on his page, save at his express command, the lackeys curbed their tongues in Léon’s presence, for he was over-ready with his dagger, and they dared not disobey the Duke’s orders. Gaston, the valet, felt that this hot partisanship was sadly wrong; that any should defend the Duke struck forcibly at his sense of propriety, and more than once he tried to convince the page that it was the duty of any self-respecting menial to loathe the Duke.
    “ Mon petit,” he said firmly, “it is ridiculous. It is unthinkable. Même, it is outrageous. It is against all custom. The Duke, he is not human. Some call him Satanas, and, mon Dieu , they have reason!”
    “I have never seen Satan,” answered Léon, from a large chair where he sat with his feet tucked under him. “But I do not think that Monseigneur is like him.” He reflected. “But if he is like the devil no doubt I should like the devil very much. My brother says I am a child of the devil.”
    “That is shame!” said fat Madame Dubois, the housekeeper, shocked.
    “Faith, he has the devil’s own temper!” chuckled Gregory, a footman.
    “But listen to me, you!” insisted Gaston. “M. le Duc is of a hardness! Ah, but who should know better than I? I tell you, moi qui vous parle , if he would but be enraged all would go well. If he would throw his mirror at my head I would say naught! That is a gentleman, a noble! But the Duc! Bah! he speaks softly—oh, so softly!—and his eyes they are al-most shut, while his voice—voila, I shudder!” He did shudder, but revived at the murmur of applause. “And you, petit I When has he spoken to you as a boy? He speaks to you as his dog! Ah, but it is imbecile to admire such a man!