I knew his father well. The
Marquis de Perigny was . . ."
"The Marquis de Perigny!" interrupted the duchess, half rising from her
seat. "Do you mean to tell me that the Chevalier du Cevennes is the
son of the Marquis de Perigny?" For a moment her mind was confused; so
many recollections awoke to life at the mention of this name. "The
Marquis de Perigny!"
Beaufort smiled. "Yes. Do you not recall the gay and brilliant
marquis of fifteen years ago?"
Madame colored. "You said that the past should be shaken from the
shoulders like a worn-out cloak."
"True. Ah, but that mad marquis!" reminiscently. "What a man he must
have been in his youth! A fatalist, for I have seen him walk into the
enemy's fire, laughing. Handsome? Too handsome. Courage? He was
always fighting; he was a lion. How we youngsters applauded him! He
told Richelieu to his face that he would be delighted to have him visit
Perigny and dance the saraband before his peasant girls. He was always
breaking the edicts, and but for the king he would have spent most of
his time in the Bastille. He hasn't been to court in ten years."
"And is this son handsome?"
"Handsome and rich, with the valor of a Crillon.
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