best, and with her a boy of seventeen or eighteen. Guerchard's eyes glued themselves to the face of the boy. He stared at it, holding the portrait now nearer, now further off. His eyes kept stealing covertly from the photograph to the face of the Duke.
The Duke caught one of those covert glances, and a vague uneasiness flickered in his eyes. Guerchard saw it. He came nearer to the Duke and looked at him earnestly, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.
"What's the matter?" said the Duke. "What are you looking at so curiously? Isn't my tie straight?" And he put up his hand and felt it.
"Oh, nothing, nothing," said Guerchard. And he studied the photograph again with a frowning face.
There was a noise of voices and laughter in the hall.
"Those people are going," said the Duke. "I must go down and say good-bye to them." And he rose and went out of the room.
Guerchard stood staring, staring at the photograph.
The Duke ran down the stairs, and said goodbye to the millionaire's guests. After they had gone, M. Gournay-Martin went quickly up the
