“Is this thing true?”

The young man in the velvet suit, with the order of the Golden Fleece on his breast, spoke hastily and haughtily, jerking his head back as if Doctor Anatole had made to strike him in the face.

“My friend Professor Anatole Long does not lie,” said Claire firmly. “I am the daughter of Francis Agnew the Scot, and of his wife Colette Llorient.”

“You are prepared to prove this?”

“I have neither wish nor need to prove it,” said Claire. “I am content to be my father’s daughter, and to have known him for an honest man. I trust not to shame his memory!”

The young man with the golden order at his throat stood biting his lip and frowning with a frown so concentrated and deadly that Claire thought she had never seen the like.

“The daughter of Colette Llorient to whom my grandfather ”

He broke off hastily, his sentence unachieved. Then all at once his mood appeared to alter. A smile broke upon his lips. Upon his forehead the bushy black brows disjoined, and he sat down near Claire, so that he could look in her face with the light of the sunset streaming upon it through the door, while his own was still in shadow.

“So you may be my cousin my aunt Colette’s daughter,” he said meditatively. “Well, Don Jorge, you are a lawyer and learned, they say. I charge you to look at any papers the young lady may have, and report to your brother, this grinder of good meal and responsible civil authority of my town of Collioure. And pray tell me, little one,” he continued, taking Claire’s hand, as if he had been an old acquaintance, “how would you like me for a cousin? We have much need of one so young and fair in our dingy old castle. The stock of the Llorients of Collioure has worn itself away, till there remains only myself and if there be no mistake you, my kinswoman, fresh as the May morning! Why, you will redeem us all!”

It was then that the Senora found her tongue. Indeed, she had not lost it. But she did not approve of this too familiar and masterful young man, and she only waited an opportunity of telling him so.

“Raphael Llorient of Collioure, listen to me,” she said. “I was your foster-mother you and my Don Jordy there are of one age, and lay on my breast together. It is my right to speak to you, since, though they may owe you feudal obedience and service, I abide here in this house of La Masane for the term of my natural life. Let this maid stay with us. If I could bring up you and these children of my body, I am able to guide also this young maid, who has nor father nor mother.”

“But we have gay company down yonder at the Castle,” said Raphael Llorient, “ladies of the Court even or rather, who would be of the Court if we had one, and not merely a monastery with a bureau attached for the Man-who-traffics-in-kingdoms!”

“I wish to stay here,” said Claire, alarmed all at once by the strangeness of her kinsman’s manner. “I am very happy, and Professor Anatole brought me from Paris!”

“Happy Professor,” smiled the Lord of Collioure, somewhat sneeringly. “I presume he did not forget his office, but used his eloquence to some purpose by the way? But, all the same, though we will not compel you, sweet cousin, it would cheer us mightily if you would come. There are great ladies now doing the honours of my house the Countess Livia, the Duchess of Err, and Valentine la Nina.”

“Raphael little son,” said the old lady, laying her withered hand on his lace wristband, “leave her with me. She is better and safer with old Mother Amelie than with all your great folk down there!”

“That for the great folk,” cried the young man, snapping his fingers; “they are no greater than any daughter of the house of the Llorients of Collioure. Besides, they have seen her already. The duchess passed her yesterday with the Countess Livia on her way to the rock-fishing. But I will not tell what she reported of you to the duke, or it might make you vain!”

Claire moved uneasily. The man’s eyes affected her curiously. She would now very gladly have sat as close to the Abbe John as even that encroaching youth could have wished.

“Do you know, little cousin,” the lord of the manor continued, after a pause in which no one spoke, “you are not very gracious to your kinsfolk? Perhaps you have more of them than I in Scotland, maybe?”

Claire shook her head sadly enough.

“Save these good friends here, I am alone in the world,” she answered steadily. “I do not know my father’s family in Scotland. I think they know as little of me as you did before entering that door!”

“Perhaps,” Raphael went on courteously, “that is more than you think. We are a poor little village, a poverty-stricken countryside, in which such a pearl as you cannot long be hidden. Somebody will surely be wanting it for their crown!”

“Pearls mean tears and of those I have shed enough,” said Claire simply; “also I have seen and heard much of crowns and those who wear them. I would rather stay at the Mas and take the goats to the mountains, and ”

“The learned Professor to the beach!” added Raphael, with a curl of his lip.

“Indeed, yes!” cried Claire, reaching out her hand to the Professor. “I am always happy with him. He teaches me so many things. My father was a wise man, but he lacked the time to talk much with me.”

“And I dare say the learned Professor of the Sorbonne gives his time willingly,” said the Lord of Collioure; “his tastes are not singular. And pray, of your courtesy, what might he teach you in your tete-a-têtes?”

“I have everything to learn,” Claire answered with intent, “except fencing with the small-sword and how to shoot straight with a pistol! These my father taught me!”

“Ah,” cried Raphael Llorient, clapping his hands, “this is a dangerous damsel to offend. Why, you could call us all out, and kill us one by one, if duelling were not forbidden in Spain!”

“I stand for peace,” said the Professor, interrupting unexpectedly, for even after many years filled with learned labours and crowned with success, the feudal reverence was strong on him; “I am a man of peace, but there are many who would not let Mistress Claire go without a defender. Even I ”

The feudal superior laughed unpleasantly.

“Oh, yes,” he cried, “you would defend her with a syllogism, draw your major and minor premises upon the insulter, and vanquish the lady’s foes before a full meeting of the Sorbonne!”

“Indeed,” returned the Professor shortly, “we have had some meetings of that body lately which came near to losing kings their thrones!”

The keen, dark features of the Lord of Collioure took on a graver expression.

“Where I come from,” he said, “we live too near to the rack and the water-torture to air our opinions concerning such things. Our Philip has taught us to guard our thoughts for times when we find ourselves some distance outside the frontiers of Spain.”

He cast a significant look around, on the dusking purplish sea, on the great mass of Estelle and the Canigou, standing out black against a saffron sky. The glance conveyed to those who knew Raphael Llorient, that they dwelt at present too far within the dangerous bounds of Spain, and that if they had once to do with the Demon of the South, it would be worse for them than many Holy Leagues and Bearnais war-levyings.

He rose to take his leave, kissing the Senora, and palpably hesitating between Claire’s cheek and her hand, till something in the girl’s manner decided him on the latter.

“Au revoir, sweet cousin newly found!” he cried, lifting his black velvet bonnet to his head with grace; “I hope you will like me better the next time you see me. I warn you I shall come with credentials!”

“I sha’n’t I won’t I never could!” Claire was affirming to herself behind her shut lips, even as he was speaking.

“I hate that man!” she burst out, as soon as the lithe slender figure in the black velvet suit was sufficiently far out of ear-shot down the mountain side.

“You mean,” said the Professor soothingly, “that you are a little afraid of Don Raphael. I do not wonder. Perhaps I did wrong to bring you here. But I never thought to see him cross this doorstep. He has not done so much for years and years. For how long, mother?”

“For sixteen years not since his father’s death,” said the old woman; “he was angry that the farm of La Masane was left to me burden-free for my lifetime, when he had so great need of the money to spend in Madrid!”

“I hate him! I cannot tell why no,” added Claire, recurring to the former speech of Professor Anatole, “I do not fear him why should I? In the end, I am stronger than he!”

“Ah,” said the Professor, “but it is always such a long way to the end!”