"
"Yes, but this is a duke, man,--a prince!"
"This from you? By Jove, De Vere, I wish you and I could live a hundred
years, to see a republican aristocrat. We are still mere provincials,"
added Dalton, with a sigh.
Denslow perspired with mortification.
"You use me badly,--I tell you, Dalton, this Rosecouleur is a devil.
Condescend to him! be haughty and--what do you call it?--urbane to him! I
defy _you_ to do it, with all your impudence. Why, his valet, that shadow
that glides after him, is too much for me. Try him yourself, man."
"Who, the valet?"
"No, the master,--though I might have said the valet."
"Did I yield in Paris?"
"No, but you were of the embassy, and--and--_no one really knew us_, you
know."
Dalton pressed his lips hard together.
"Come," said he, "De Vere, let us try a fall with this Titan of the
carpet."
Denslow hastened back to the Duke. I followed Dalton; but as for me, bah!
I am a cipher.
The room in which we were adjoined Honoria's boudoir, from which a secret
passage led down by a spiral to a panel behind hangings; raising these,
one could enter the drawing-room unobserved. Dalton paused midway in the
secret passage, and through a loop or narrow window concealed by
architectural ornaments, and which overlooked the great drawing-rooms,
made a reconnaissance of the field.
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